


Town Meets Country

by Angel_of_the_Dawn



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Farm/Ranch, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Small Town, Books, Eventual Happy Ending, Falling In Love, First Kiss, I can't help it., Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Jealousy, Library, Light Angst, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining, Recovering from religion, Self-Esteem Issues, Sweet, childhood bullying, embrace the sappiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:28:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 33,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21685279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angel_of_the_Dawn/pseuds/Angel_of_the_Dawn
Summary: Former preacher Azira Fell moves to a small rural town to work as a librarian and meets Anthony Crowley, former drifter turned farmer. Crowley helps Azira come to terms with his past and face the future.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 87
Kudos: 265





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I only have a vague idea as to where this story is going, but I'm liking it so far. Hopefully, it will work itself out as I write. I probably won't be posting more than one chapter a week because I need time for it to percolate. I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> More tags may be added later.

"Azira Fell? You're not from 'round here, are you?" He was used to the question by now. It was better than "What church do you go to?" As though it was assumed he must go to church somewhere. That hit a sore spot that hadn't quite healed. 

"How long have you been here?" Asked the elderly woman as he stamped her library books. He recognized the patron's last name on the computer, even though he'd never met her. She belonged to one of the most well known and influential clans in the region.

"About six months," he replied, smiling, "How about you Mrs. Michaelson?" It worked. People loved to talk about themselves. She launched into the saga of her family's history in the county. 

At 40 years old, Azira recently completed his master's degree in library science and relocated to this small country town, far from his previous life. The few friends he had told him he was crazy, but he needed a fresh start and the town needed a full time assistant librarian. When he was hired, the regional supervisor told him there was potential for him to eventually become a branch manager, if he did his job well. He didn't think that would be a problem.

Azira was happy enough, so far. The work was not hard and there was plenty of time for reading. Plus, he didn't have great expectations from life, not any more. Most of the adult library patrons were one of two types: the quiet, I'm-minding-my-own-business type, or the chatty, I'm-minding-everyone-else's-business-type. They had all had been friendly so far, but the conversations were predictable.

"Where are you from?"  
"The northeast."  
"Whatya doin' here?"  
"I thought I'd like a change of pace. It's a beautiful place to live."  
"You married?"  
"No."  
"Where you stayin'?"  
"In town."  
"Where you goin' to church?"  
"I'm not religious."

That usually brought the conversation to a halt. Azira was determined to be vague but honest. Anathema, the other assistant librarian would grin at him when the questioners left. "Hey." She once said, "don't let it bother you. They'll get used to you. I've lived here most of my life and look at me." She spread her arms wide as if to draw attention to her funky jewelry, tattoos, and mermaid blue tresses. "I'm positively scandalous in comparison." It was true that his frumpy beige suits and tartan bow ties were far from awe inspiring.

He was grateful for Anathema's company. When there were no patrons and the chores were done, they would chat like old friends. The occasional flirtatious talk was mild and meaningless. She had a long time boyfriend that she was crazy about. There were no expectations on her part, thank the cosmos. Best of all, she didn't ask questions about his past.

No one needed to know he had once been a preacher. His current life was nothing like what he thought it would be twenty years ago. Back then, he was in still in college and still "On Fire for the Lord." His parents had been thrilled that he wanted to preach. They enthusiastically supported his desire to get a degree in theology, even if they were a little perplexed that he added a second major in English Literature. Perhaps, unconsciously, he had been hedging his bets. 

He enjoyed college for the first couple of years, becoming part of a group of other religion majors. They spent most of their free time together, studying, eating, playing practical jokes and ultimate frisbee, and avoiding "dames, drugs, and drink." There were some awesome theological shouting matches well into the wee hours of morning, but they managed to remain friendly and sometimes changed each other's minds. 

That dynamic shifted during Azira's third year. Over the summer, some of the guys had found preaching jobs and girlfriends who wanted to be preacher's wives. They decided to finish their degrees long distance or close to home. Another switched his major mid year, claiming he hated the mandatory classes in Greek and Hebrew. Two friends transferred to a publuc university, together. Azira stuck with the group for a while because there were new students to take the place of the old, but it wasn't the same. 

By his senior year, he was tired of being the unspoken designated mentor for what he saw as a group of hormone ridden adolescents. It was very uncomfortable. At 16, he had recognized that he had no desire for a relationship with anyone of the female persuasion, so he decided he would be like the Apostle Paul and make Jesus the love of his life. After all, it was very biblical. He now had trouble relating to his peers, who didn't seem quite so bent on being holy. Azira found it easier to become a loner and focus on his studies. It was a relief to finally graduate.

However, he was not happy in his first preaching job, or his second. No one had warned Azira how many women would be treating him as if they owned him, just because he was single. The elderly ladies either complained about everything or gave him too many hugs and homemade cookies. The complaints made no sense to him, he was not a huggy person, and the cookies went straight to his waistline. 

The mothers of marriageable daughters were the worst. He was invited to many home cooked meals only to find himself awkwardly left alone with a young woman afterward. Then he had to lead the church's singles and young adult group, and participate in group dates, by request of the elders. Even his mother began complaining about her lack of a daughter-in-law and grandchildren. Over the years, he was set up with dates so many times, he began to feel like a bowling pin. 

There was one humiliating experience when he was thirty. A twenty five year old woman in his congregation tried to seduce him in his office, under the pretense of needing counseling. After a few gentle rebuffs, one day she said, "You're queer, aren't you?" At first, he assumed she meant it literally, that he was odd or unusual. When the full meaning of what she said hit him, he felt his face blossom with fear and shame. She laughed and told him not to worry, she wouldn't tell anyone. He went home alone that night and cried himself to sleep.

To Azira, it felt like blasphemy to even think about dividing his affection between god and someone else, anyone else. He became more and more unwilling to engage in the expected social niceties, maintaining a cool but polite distance from all eligible maidens. He also encouraged young men to find someone else to be their accountability partner. Anyone requesting counseling was sent to a local therapist. He no longer felt qualified to help anyone else with their personal issues. His own doubts and fears were carefully tucked away from scrutiny.

There were always books to read, sermons to write, and lectureships to attend. These things kept him focussed on his self appointed mission to save the world from death and destruction, for a couple of years. However, the older men in his last congregation began to call him self centered for not leading the younger men with an example of how to be a godly husband. They thought he was getting too old to be a preacher without a wife. When earnest, bookish young women began to look on him as their last hope, he realized they might actually be his last hope to remain A full time preacher. He quit the ministry and applied to graduate school. 

\------------------

Azira looked up from his book at the gentle electronic "ding, ding" of the library's front door. Anathema greeted the patron cheerfully, "Good afternoon, Mr. Crowley." Azira sat up straighter and put down his book. He only read when the library was empty. 

The farmer was long, lean, and tanned, in black jeans and work boots. His hair was a shock of true auburn, an unusual color, short on the sides and longer on top. He removed his sunglasses and slid them into the pocket of his red and black plaid shirt. Planting his forearms on the long front desk, he said, "Afternoon, Anathema. Got any books for me?" 

"Just a minute, I'll check."

Golden brown eyes travelled over to Azira and regarded him with interest. They rested on his name tag. "Azira? Unusual name. Middle eastern?" His eyes moved to the librarian's cottony blond hair and blue eyes. Then he grinned.

Oh, that grin! The image burned into Azira's brain. Later that day he would see it hanging in the air wherever he went, like the toothy smile of Alice in Wonderland's Cheshire cat. 

At the moment, though, he cleared his throat, "Family name. There are stories, but no one actually knows where it started." He surprised himself. It was the first time he had voluntarily revealed personal information to a patron. 

A hand was held out. "Anthony Crowley. Most people call me Crowley. I wouldn't mind hearing the stories sometime." Azira shook the offered hand. It was strong and calloused. The handshake was firm but friendly, not a bit aggressive, like some of the other demonstrably manly handshakes he had received in the last six months. 

He was trying to figure out how to reply when Anathema came back to the desk. "Here you go Mr. Crowley. You had two books and two DVDs on hold." She began to scan them into the computer. 

Azira glanced at the titles. "You like Twain? He's one of my favorite authors. I love that he's got a wicked sense of humor, but a lot of compassion for humanity underneath the sarcasm."

Crowley flashed him that grin again, "Just like me." 

Azira inwardly cursed himself for the heat that rose in his face. 

Anathema handed the farmer his books. In his best Suave Film Star voice, Crowley declared, "Anathema, my dear, if it weren't for your ferociously jealous fiancee, I would beg you to run away with me." He winked at Aziraphale. Everyone knew Newton Pulsifer was no more ferocious than a kitten. 

Anathema laughed, "You're incorrigible." 

"Yep. Incorrigible, that's me. Ciao, ragazzi! Don't have fun without me." 

Silence reigned again in the library. 

Aziraphale gathered his courage and asked, "Is he from 'round here?" 

Anathema chuckled. "Yes, and no. From what I gather, he was a bit of a black sheep and was cast out of his family home at 18. He came back and took over the farm when his father died last year. I think he is the last of the Crowleys. As far as I know, no one is holding the past against him. He's proven himself to be a genuinely nice guy even if he pretends to be a bastard."

"What happened when he was young?"  
"That's not my story to tell. I will say that I think his parents were rotten to him. I also think he likes you."

One heart beat later: "Of course he does, I'm a likable guy."  
"Yes you are, but that's not what I meant."  
"But he's not...I mean...I don't...That is..."

Anathema let her glasses slide down the bridge of her nose and peered at him over the rims. "Really?"

Azira avoided the implication. "I've never seen him before. Is he a regular?"

"Yes, but he usually shows up when you are on your lunch break. I bet he broke his routine to check you out. After all you are a hot topic on the grapevine."

"Oh, Hell. Beg, your pardon, but your accursed grapevine is beginning to annoy me."  
"The price of rural life. Watchya wanna bet Crowley changes his routine permanently."  
"Humph. I don't think you know what you're talking about."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strawberries and lust. Sort of.

Anathema was right. At the end of the week Crowley was back at the same time to return his dvd's and check out a few more. "Not much else to do at night where I live." He told Azira. 

"Can't you stream online movies?"

"I could if I wanted to watch them on my phone, but that eats up a lot of data. Otherwise, its "slow connection" messages every few minutes, even from satellite internet."

"But the library has decent internet service."

"Yeah. And they are also physically hooked up to broadband. If you're not in town, you are out of luck. Cable has been laid through through the county but no outlying private homes have been connected. Too expensive. Do you have internet?"

Aziraphale lived in an efficiency apartment over the town's drugstore. He assumed Crowley knew that because of the blasted grapevine. "Yes. I never bothered to ask how though. I was given a router code when I moved in. It is slow on occasion, but I'm not online much. I prefer reading."

"You're not going to get anywhere like that." Anathema remarked after the farmer left.

"I was being honest. Besides, what makes you think I want to get anywhere?"

"You don't want to end up a lonely frustrated old man, do you?"

"Too late." Azira smiled in an attempt to show that he was joking. Anathema wasn't buying it. 

"You're not old." She retorted, "Yet."  
\-----------------

The next Monday, Crowley brought a basket of strawberries from his garden for the library staff to share. Everyone popped one in their mouth except Azira. Crowley turned to him expectantly. "I'll try one later, thanks." He had heard the exclamations of how delicious and juicy the berries were and knew he wouldn't be able to eat one with any decorum. His mouth was watering without even tasting one. 

Azira enjoyed good food so much that he was certain if it wasn't gluttony, it must be a perverted form of lust. For some reason, lust been burned into his mind as the most unforgivable of sins, making him highly embarrassed when he felt pleasure in sensual experiences. Years ago, shame had compelled him to eat most of his meals in private where he could make any pleasurable noises he chose without fear of judgment. This, of course, made him a hypocrite, doubling the associated emotional turmoil. He knew he needed to deal with it, but old hang ups died hard. 

"Don't you like strawberries?" Crowley asked.  
"Yes, very much."  
"Then what will it hurt to take one?"

Azira looked at Crowley's kind, smiling face. Then he looked at the extended hand holding out the green cardboard basket. The temptation was more than he could bear. He chose the smallest strawberry visible. Very slowly and carefully he bit the whole berry off the stem and chewed. His eyes widened. It was still warm from the sun! The strawberry juice gushed into his mouth with a burst of intense flavor. He strained to hold back any vocal expression.

Crowley seemed to be waiting for his reaction. After swallowing, he ventured a hesitant "Yum." 

"Yum?" Crowley laughed. "I thought a librarian would use more descriptive language, like scrumptious or delectable. " 

"How about scrumdillyicious?" Azira countered.  
"That'll do. Have another?"  
"No thanks. I've run out of words for now." 

Crowley looked at him thoughtfully. "I've got more in my truck. Would you like a basket to take home?" 

Anathema was nodding her head vigorously in the background. "That's very kind of you, what can I give you for it?" Azira asked, frowning slightly when he saw the young librarian pantomime smacking her forehead with the palm of her hand. Sandy, the branch manager, and Ariel, the director of children's programs, looked amused.

"Not kind at all, they'll rot if they don't get eaten." Crowley replied gruffly, without mentioning payment. Azira quickly realized he must have broken one of those unwritten rules of country living. Seeing Anathema's new hand motions, he followed the farmer out the front door to his truck. In the truck's bed were a couple flats of berry baskets. One basket already had his name written on it in black sharpie. There were names on some of the other baskets too. 

Crowley handed over Azira's strawberries. Trying to make up for his faux pas, the librarian smiled and said, "They are lovely, thank you."

"No need to thank me. Just make sure you eat them soon. They're better if you don't refrigerate them." Crowley opened the door to his truck and climbed into the driver's seat. He turned the key in the ignition and began to back out.

"Crowley!" Azira called from the sidewalk, before the truck pulled away. 

He stuck his head out the open window. "What?"

"Does does anyone sell real whipped cream in this god-forsaken town?"

Azira was rewarded with what he had been hoping for, that flash of teeth. "I'm pretty sure Ripley's General has cream, but you might have to whip it your self." He laughed out loud at the librarian's pained expression, waved his hand, and drove off.

Back inside the library, Azira took his strawberries to the small break room kitchen and left them on the table. At his place behind the front desk, he began writing down the patron hold requests that had popped up on his computor monitor. At the terminal next to him, Anathema swiveled in her chair. "Well?"

"Well, what?" He replied, concentrating on the screen in front of him. 

"What did he say?"  
"He told me not to refrigerate them."  
"That's it?"  
"Pretty much."

Anathema sighed. "Would you mind if I explained something to you?" 

Azira was sure this was about his offer to pay for the strawberries. He was mortified, but knew she was trying to help. So, he gave her his full attention. "Go ahead, I know what I did wrong. I just don't know why it was wrong."

"Here's the thing. You treated his offer as if it was a transaction, when what it actually meant was that he wanted to include you in his inner circle of people he considers friends and family."

"Oh! How was I supposed to know that!" 

"Hasn't anyone ever give anything to you without expecting something in return?"

"I don't know. Maybe my grandmother. Where I lived people took pride in fending for themselves, not accepting charity or handouts. We held on tightly to what we had, making it last as long as possible. Pay your own way. Pull your own weight. Waste not, want not. Use it up, wear it out, or do without. God helps those who help themselves. You know, the American way."

"That doesn't sound very pleasant to me and It's not the American way around here, unless you want to be left alone by most of the community. Some people do, but I don't think you are that kind of person."

"All right. How does the American way work around here?"

"First of all, if anyone offers you anything homemade, home cooked, or homegrown, you don't think of it as charity. It is good will. You accept it without hesitation. Then you gush." 

"What does gushing involve?"

"Gushing is effusive thanks and exclamations of praise for the person and/or their gift, even if you don't particularly care for whatever it is. The rule here is openhanded generosity with friends and family. No score is usually kept, unless you are obviously tightfisted. It is understood that some people have more to give than others. If you have been blessed with an abundance of anything, and you give some of the excess away, you are in good standing."

"What if you don't have anything to give away?"

"Then you come up with something that will be your trademark. A particular kind of alcoholic beverage, a loaf of fresh bread, a batch of cookies, a bouquet of flowers."

"I see. This sounds like a lot of work." 

"You'll get used to it. Plus you will get to enjoy a lot of good food and produce. As a public servant, you will probably get quite a few gifts around Christmas. All you have to do is write thank you notes if you didn't get to thank them in person. You might also want to think about who you want to gift with something at that time, like your landlord or the mail person."

"I might also decide to become a hermit." Azira huffed.  
"If you need any help or suggestions, just ask."  
"Thank you."

\-------------

That evening, Azira sat down at his small kitchen table with a bowl of sliced strawberries sprinkled with sugar, to bring out the juices, and topped with a generous squirt of whipped cream, from Ripley's General Store. While he ate he read from his thesaurus. "Delicious. Mm. Delightful. Mmm. Delectable. Mmmm. Exquisite. Oh, yes. Toothsome. Yummy. Ambrosial. Heavenly. Luscious. Divine. Oooh. Scrumptious. Enchanting. Heavenly. Adorable. Mm hm. (Was he still referring to strawberries?) Fascinating. Alluring. Attractive. Ineffable. Ineffable?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale get to know each other a little bit better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not very nice about religion but I tried not to be horrid.

The next time Crowley came into the library he picked up a couple of books on hold, Steinbeck this time. "I'm trying to work my way through the Great American authors," he explained. "I don't know what I'm doing checking out more books right now, though. I've got too much work to do. The minute I sit down with a book, I fall asleep. Haven't even finished Innocents Abroad yet." 

"Don't you have any help on the farm?" Azira asked.  
"Not much, right now. As soon as school lets out for the summer, there will be plenty of teens looking for a way to make spending money. I can't afford to hire regular help."  
"Why do you do it?"  
"What, farming?"  
"Yes, it can't be easy. Unpredictable weather. Insects. Disease. All that hard work for little reward?"

Crowley's eyes swept over his fair skin and smooth hands. "Have you ever worked outdoors? That's what I've been doing my whole life. It's what I know. It's kept me alive. It helps me feed other people and makes me feel like life is worth living."

Azira flushed. "I'm sorry. I was out of line. You're right of course. I'm afraid my life has been pretty useless as far as actually helping to keep people alive. I couldn't even keep myself alive if I had to." 

"Hey. I didn't mean to imply you were useless. Librarians are the backbone of civilization. They keep information and knowledge ready and available to people who need it, even farmers. I've been in a lot of libraries and have known a lot of librarians. Most of of them went out of their way to show me kindness and help me find what I needed, even if it was just to let me sit out of the rain for a while. Besides there is a lot more time to read in winter. Brains need feeding too.

"It's nice of you to say so."  
"Not nice. The truth."  
"I probably should get outside more. The weather is beautiful now. There is no excuse not to, if I'm going to live here a while."  
"Are you free on Sundays?"

Azira suspected this was a round about way of asking if he went to church and hoped it was not the prelude of an invitation to a service. "Yes, Sunday is my personal down time."

"Mine too. Would you like to go walking?"  
"Walking?"  
"Yeah. You know." Long brown fingers walked across the desk.  
"Where?"  
"There's lots of options but they are all 30-60 minutes away. If you are interested, I can pick you up Sunday morning. We can try one of the closer trails to see if it appeals to you."  
"I'd like that. What time?"  
"How about 9?"  
"Lovely."

"Great. Bring water. Wear comfortable shoes." Crowley looked at him closely again. "And sunscreen." 

"Here's my number." The librarian handed him a scrap of paper he had scribbled on. I live in apartment B, over the drugstore."

"I know." That spine tingling grin lit up Crowley's face.

He took his books and was heading out the door when he stopped as if he had forgotten something. "Oh, Anathema, give this to your mom." He said tugging a folded piece of paper out of the front pocket of his jeans. Azira swallowed and looked away. The farmer handed the paper to the other librarian and left with a hearty, "See ya later guys!"

Anathema smiled wickedly at Azira and gave him a thumbs up before she opened up the folded document. He was curious but pretended to be engrossed in reading the latest inter-library memos. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the paper slide across to him. He picked it up and read. "What does CSA mean?" He asked. 

"That's community supported agriculture. It looks like Crowley plans on supplementing his income by offering shares in his garden produce, starting next week and going through the summer. He appears to be offering eggs also, as available. There are a limited amount of shares for a set weekly price, plus a occasional help in the garden. That's separate from his field plantings, which probably aren't edible anyway."

"What do you mean, not edible? What does he grow?"  
"I think he's got field corn in this year. You ever try eating field corn?"  
"Corn is corn. Isn't it?"  
"Nope. What most people eat is sweet corn. Field corn is usually eaten by horses, cattle, or other animals. Some companies grind it up and put in pet food. 

"So, how does this CSA thing work?"  
"See here? The weekly price depends on the number of people in a household. There are ten shares available. Someone can pick up their shares at the farm, or he will deliver for a small fee. He may already have some people signed up. My mom was interested. She's been too busy to plant a garden this year."  
"What if I'm interested?"  
"It can't hurt to ask. You'll be seeing him on Sunday, right?"  
"You are an eavesdropper."  
"Who me? You guys weren't whispering, you know. Can I help it if my ears pick up sound vibrations in the air from two feet away?"

\--------------------

On Sunday, Azira was ready to go at 8:30. He was a bundle of nerves by the time he heard Crowley knock on his apartment door at 8:55. The librarian opened the door to find the farmer leaning against the wall in the hallway. He had on black track pants, black running shoes, and a black tee that was just snug enough to outline his torso. Azira's first thought was, "What am I doing? He's out of my league." 

Crowley pushed off from the wall and said, "Hey 'Zira. Ready to go?"

"I think so. Is this okay?" He asked waving a hand at himself. He had on a very worn pair of relaxed Levis, white sneakers, and a short sleeve button up of sky blue and white plaid. "I don't have any sporty clothes."

He realized too late that he had invited Crowley to look him up and down. He was glad the farmer was wearing his sunglasses so he couldn't see where his eyes went. All he saw was the quick smirk just before Crowley said, "You look fine. Let's go." 

Azira wondered if the slight emphasis on the word fine meant anything. Then he told himself not to be juvenile, all the way down the stairs and out to the truck. This was nothing but friendship, and that was more than good enough. He needed a friend. Better not mess it up by expecting too much. That was all Anathema's fault. He was going to relax and enjoy the day.

They rode through town in silence, making way for cars and pedestrians all heading to one or another of the four churches they had to pass on their way out of town. "Whew!" Said Crowley, when they finally reached the town limits and sped up, "Maybe we should leave half an hour earlier next time. I forgot about Sunday morning rush hour." 

Azira filed away the phrase "next time" for safe keeping as he reflexively grabbed the door handle when the speed increased. "I guess you you usually don't come into town on Sundays?" He asked, fishing for information.

"Not if I can help it. At least not in the morning. Half the businesses are closed or don't open till after noon."

"Not a church goer?"

"Good Lord, no! I quit going to church at about ten. My mom read the Bible to me every night until I told her I couldn't see what was so bad about knowing the difference between good and evil, and I didn't care to follow any god who would drown everyone on earth but seven people, even the kids. That's when I started refusing to go to church. Things were never quite the same again. What about you?"

"I went to church regularly from the time I was born till about 5 years ago. I hate to say it, but I was probably in the running for most self-righteous bastard ever."

"I can't imagine you being hateful." 

"I tried not to be, not on purpose, but sometimes intentions don't matter if you hurt people any way. I truly thought everything I was doing was for love of god. I was a true believer, so sad for the souls of the lost and the damned. I made a mess of my life in the process of trying to save everyone else." 

"When do librarians find time to save the world?"

Azira watched the road for a few moments before he answered. "I've only been qualified to be a librarian for exactly one year. I was a full time preacher for over a decade."

It was Crowley's turn to be silent. It was longer than a few moments.

"Crowley?" Azira tentatively ventured.

"You're so smart. How could you..."

"Be so stupid?" Azira finished the question.

More silence. 

"I had been taught that god was love and that he would fix anything for me if I just asked. I believed it. I asked god to fix me so that I would deserve his love and he didn't. The people who hired me began to question my loyalty to the doctrine of our church, for good reason. My last few years in ministry, I began to openly refuse to participate in culture wars and even sent some young people to forbidden organizations for help that I couldn't give them. One day I realized that I was fooling myself. Nothing could change who I was and I couldn't change minds that didn't want to change." 

They had been traveling along a road with horse farms on one side and open fields bordering woods on the other. Now they turned onto a tree lined lane and pulled into a parking lot in front the wooded area. Crowley cut the ignition, grasped the top of steering wheel with both hands and put his head down on his hands. Azira waited with trepidation. "You can take me back to town if you want. I'll understand." He finally breathed. 

"What? You think I want to...No. I'm sorry. I was trying keep my temper under control. It burns me up to hear how kind, trusting, and intelligent people have been used and hurt by religion. I feel like I want rip into anyone who made you feel less than you are. I couldn't be as calm about it as you are being. I've always been more of a demon than an angel, testing the limits, questioning authority. There was even a time that I enjoyed tempting people to sin, mostly because I didn't respect their belief that god would punish them for their transgressions. I've used people to validate my own disbelief.

"I'm not an angel either."

"You haven't convinced me. You've got angel written all over you. It sounds to me like you tried very hard to do what you thought was the right thing until you found out that it didn't actually translate well to reality.

"Now I'm a fallen angel."

"Don't say that. You can't fall when you are standing on the ground. You don't need to be fixed when you aren't broken. Come on angel, let's get out and go for a walk in the woods.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eden and a garden

The trail led off to the right, from the parking lot. It dipped down and wound through the forest, only to rise gently after a bend and turn in another direction. Sunlight played in the tops of the trees and danced with the shadows of leaves on the crushed gravel path. The not-quite-summer air was fresh and balmy. Azira found himself breathing more deeply, taking in the scent of soil, leaves, and spring. There were flowering shrubs which Crowley said were mountain laurel, even though they weren't in the mountains. Yellow, orange, and green petals, fallen from the tops of tulip trees were scattered along the path. When he looked up, Azira couldn't see the flowers, so he took the farmer's word for it that they were there. Squirrels played tag, darting across the path and rustling through last years leaves. The pair even saw a doe and her fawn a few yards off the trail, tails wagging as they browsed, seemingly unafraid. 

"It's beautiful here, Crowley."  
"I knew you'd like it. This is my Eden. The trail is just right for a nice walk, not too short, but not too long if you haven't got much time. Sometimes I'll run a couple of circuits, especially in the winter when I need to get away from the farm."   
"How far out of town are you?"  
"About five miles. You could come visit sometime."  
"I'd like that."  
"How 'bout today? Lunch? Nothing fancy, just sandwiches. I can show you around the homestead."

Azira decided that eating sandwiches in front of Crowley probably wouldn't be the cause of too much embarrassment, and he really wanted to know more about Crowley's life, so he accepted. "Sounds lovely. If it's not any bother." 

"Believe me, I wouldn't ask if it was."

They walked at a steady clip, occasionally pausing for the librarian to exclaim over a colorful mushroom, or to lean over the railing of a foot bridge and watch turtles in a marshy pond. Azira began to hum tunelessly under his breath. It was the sound of contentment. He had no idea how adorable this made him appear to the man by his side. For about an hour, life was practically perfect.

After they got back to the truck and had some water, Azira thanked Crowley for showing him the trail. "I've never done this before," he added, as they turned out of the parking lot onto the road back to town.

"What? You're telling me you've never walked on a trail in your entire life?"   
"Not through real woods. We lived in the suburbs of a big city. There were parks with paths, but this was different."  
"Wow. But weren't you a boy scout or something? You never went to campgrounds or state parks?"  
"My parents were not keen on outdoor life. It wasn't sterile enough. I was a boy scout for about three months, but that wasn't for me."

Crowley sensed a story there. "What happened?"  
"Ah. Yes. Well. It's not very interesting."  
"I'm interested, but you don't have to tell me if you don't want to."  
"If my preacher story upset you, this won't be any better."  
"Now I'm doubly curious. I can't promise not to curse somebody though."  
"Ahem. You know those pictures of cherubs you see on Victorian style valentine's cards?"  
"Yep." Crowley was beginning to have an idea where this was going.  
"Well. I kind of looked like that when I was a boy."  
"I'm not surprised, angel." The farmer smirked.

Azira paused a small frown forming between his eyebrows. This "angel" thing was becoming a habit. He flashed a sideways glance at Crowley. He wondered if humiliation was in store for him, again. "We are both adults, you can tell him to stop if you don't like it," he reminded himself. The problem was he did like it, a lot. With a sigh, he continued.

"Anyway, one of the other scouts decided the perfect nickname for me would be 'stupid cupid.'"  
"Damn!" (The sympathy was gratifying.)  
"There's more."  
"Of course."  
"Somehow it became a game to try and pinch my cheeks and run, when no adults were looking. I had been taught that both fighting and tattling were wrong, but I had not been taught how to assertively stand up for myself. So, I just stoically accepted the misery as my lot.   
"Didn't your parents notice?"  
"My mother did, after I came home from a scout meeting with bruises on my face. She tried talking to my father, but he very loudly told her I would need to learn how to swim with the sharks sooner or later. It took another episode for her to insist that something had to be done. By that time I was using the only weapon I had, stubborn refusal to speak or participate during the meetings. My father had no choice but to let me quit."

"That was pretty harsh for a kid. You didn't deserve to be bullied. Nobody does."  
"I wish someone would have told my father that."  
"Did he bully you too?"   
"Not physically, but I'm still working on getting his voice out of my head. Some hurtful things he said over the years got stuck on repeat in my brain."  
"Sounds like you and I have a lot in common in that regard."  
"I'm sorry to hear it. What about you, were you ever in scouts?"

"Who me? Ha! I went straight to refusal and didn't pass go. Uniforms and uniformity were not for me. I was one of those kids that would change the rules if I didn't like them. No scouts, no official sports teams. My dad didn't like that either, but he still had bragging rights. I could beat anyone my age at almost anything from running to swimming, and everyone knew it. We had bike races down the dirt roads, watermelon eating contests, snowball fights, camping out in backyards. Lot's of fun, till about thirteen." 

"Should I ask?"  
"That was around the time when nonconformity stopped being viewed as something childish that I would get over. I became a public embarrassment to my god fearing parents. Not only did I not go to church, I openly declared I was an atheist, wouldn't stand for the pledge, didn't go to school football games, and I didn't hunt, still don't"

"What does hunting have to do with conformity?"   
"You haven't been here during hunting season, yet, have you?"  
"I don't even know when hunting season is."  
"In the fall."

"What's wrong with not hunting? I'm sure there are plenty of people who don't hunt."

"Yep. There are. But they are usually not local. Not county born and bred. Most local boys had a gun and had learned how to use it by the age of twelve. By the age of thirteen they were out with the men during hunting season. I got the gun, became pretty good marksman, then refused to kill anything. I never went out on a hunt. Another disappointment for my father.

"I've never been hunting either."

No offence, angel, but I'm sure no one will even bother to ask you if you hunt. You are obviously not the type." 

"Oh. Yes, no one has asked." Aziraphale remembered a few handshakes that had squeezed just a little too hard to be considered friendly. Deciding to be straightforward with Crowley, he asked. "Is there any reason some one of my type would be better off somewhere else?" his face reddening. 

Crowley darted a sharp glance at him, then pulled off the road at a track that ran beside a field of soy beans. He set the brake, put the truck in park, but didn't cut the engine. He wiped his palms on his thighs and looked out the driver side window for a couple of seconds. Then he took off his sunglasses and turned to Azira.

"I'm not going to lie to you. Twenty five years ago, I would have said there was no way you could be happy here. I wasn't. Things have changed. The younger generations, like Anathema, are more tolerant, they mix well with all types. We have a lot more outsiders in the county too. They bring a different dynamic to the area. There are still the die hard bigots and traditionalists, but they are dying out, and they know it. The most they will do is grumble among themselves and be a little passive aggressive. I promise you, you are safe. Besides that, no one messes with my friends." With that statement, Crowley put the truck in reverse and backed out onto the road. 

It began to dawn on Azira that Crowley might have publicly marked him as his friend as a deliberate act of defiance. Non conformity was his thing after all. The librarian couldn't decide if he found this revelation patronizing and annoying or warm and flattering. Maybe it was the sunlight heating up the dark red leather and vinyl interior of the truck, but Azira couldn't help going with the warm option. He put an elbow on the door sill and propped his chin on his fist, watching field after field flow by in endless succession. 

\------------------

He awoke with a start when he felt the ghost of a touch on the back of his hand. They were not moving. Crowley was grinning at him. "You fell asleep."

Azira wiped his still tingling hand over his damp face. "I can see that. Sorry. I haven't slept well lately. Then the walk and the sun. You know. Is this your place?"

"Yep."

They got out of the Truck and Azira saw that they were at the back of a plain, two story, white clapboard home. 

Crowley stretched and tried to hide a yawn. "Unwritten rule number five thousand, six hundred, seventy four, of country living: friends and family are always welcome, and always go around to the back door. Lunch first or tour first?"

Azira shook his head in amusement. "For nonconformists, you and Anathema sure do follow a lot of rules. Tour first," he said, even though his stomach was reminding him he hadn't eaten since six thirty that morning.

"Some rules are worth keeping, like ones about how to treat the people you care about." 

Azira could tell this was a point of honor for Crowley. He hoped he didn't mess things up by breaking another unwritten rule of country life. He had grown up with a far different set of unwritten rules: a man's home is his castle, important people come in the front, by invitation only. Trades people go around the back.

"Come on then," Crowley led the way to some nearby outbuildings. One housed a couple of tractors, one older looking, and one newer. There were tool sheds, storage sheds, a woodworking workshop, old horse stalls and a cow barn, unused, except for bales of hay. In an enclosed area was a nanny goat and two kids. They stopped to scratch the goats' heads. One youngster tried to eat Azira's shoe lace through the wooden slats of the fence. Crowley showed him the hen house with a couple dozen laying hens pecking around outside, and gave him a basket to collect some eggs. Azira was enchanted and cooed over everything, until a chicken decided his curly head looked like a good place to roost. A laughing Crowley grabbed the hen, put it down, and shooed it away. He quickly carded his long fingers through the glaring librarian's hair. "There. Good as new." 

Behind all the out buildings, and parallel to the road in front of the house, the corn field stretched as far as a haze of trees on the horizon. To the right, the field eventually skipped over a dirt road and continued on the other side. The Corn stalks were no more than a foot high. Remembering his talk with Anathema, Azira asked Crowley if he also grew sweet corn. "Of course. Let's go to the garden."

To the left of the house and outbuildings was a small greenhouse. Between the green house and the road was a large garden, at least 1/4 an acre. As they walked the perimeter, Crowley explained what was planted in each bed. The onions and various greens were ready to harvest. Snow peas and green beans would be ready soon.There were new plantings of tomatoes, peppers, squash, and cucumbers. Closest to the road were a few rows of sweet corn. These plants were only a couple of inches tall, planted a few weeks later later than the field corn so it wouldn't cross pollinate. Past the garden were two rows of blueberry bushes and one row of blackberry canes. 

"Wow Crowley, that's a lot of work for one person."  
"It's what I do. Sun up to sun down, six days a week during growing season. I don't mind. Keeps me out of trouble. Got no one to answer to but myself."  
"Doesn't get lonely? Out here all by yourself?"  
"Nah. I've got Bo and Boo to keep me company. There's books, and of course TV, if I don't fall asleep."  
"Who are Bo and Boo?"  
"Come and meet them."

Crowley and Azira walked to the back door. "Stand back," Crowley said. Azira stepped back a few paces. The door was opened and a lively black lab bounded out whining with joy, bumping up against Crowley, wriggling his hindquarters, and pushing his nose up under The farmers hand. "This is Bo," he said, crouching down to rub his hands vigorously along the dog's coat and fondle his ears, crooning nonsense at him. "And here comes Boo." He pointed his nose at the open doorway. A fat, sleek, ebony cat, with white paws and mustache, came strolling nonchalantly out. It sat down in the dirt and surveyed the assembly judgmentally. Finally, it sauntered over to Azira, sniffed his shoes, then started rubbing his head up against the librarian's leg. 

"I guess I passed the test." Azira said, bending over to scratch behind the cat's ears and tickle under its chin. 

"He's no fool."

The librarians ears turned pink at the oblique compliment.

Crowley stood up. "Let's have lunch. I'm starved."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having to pull this story out of my psyche one sentence at a time. It feels personal. Hopefully, I will have the patience and resolve to carry it through to the end. I love these two.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "A friend is someone with whom you can think aloud"- something like that was said by Emerson. I'm too tired to look it up.

As in most country homes, Crowley's back door lead into the kitchen, which was time worn, but clean and neat. Crowley directed Azira to the bathroom in the adjoining hallway. "If you want to wash your hands." When the librarian came back, Crowley was getting out the fixings for grilled cheese sandwiches. He pulled a small covered bowl of strawberries out of the fridge and put them on the dented and scratched farm table in the middle of the room.

"Hey, I thought you said not to refrigerate them!"

"I said they were better if you didn't, and they are. I can't eat them fast enough for them to keep without refrigerating. This is probably the last of this season's strawberries any way. I thought we could have them with lunch. Have a seat. Lemonade or water?" 

Azira noticed that the pitcher of lemonade on the counter had lemon slices floating in it. He guessed Crowley had made it himself. "Lemonade, please." he said. Crowley plunked a few pieces of ice in two glasses, filled them from the pitcher, and handed one to Azira with a smile. 

The librarian waited till Crowley turned back to assemble the sandwiches before he ventured a sip. It was a good thing too. Lemonade had no right to taste so wonderful, the perfect ratio of sweet to tart. Azira felt the zing in his cheeks. He involuntarily let out a small squeak. 

Crowley had just finished laying one sandwich in the frying pan. He turned at the noise. "You okay there?"

Azira covered his mouth and coughed a few times. "Yes. Yes. Tickety Boo. A little just went down the wrong way, that's all." 

"Tickety Boo? That's a new one." Crowley teased as he turned back to put another sandwich in the pan. 

Azira laughed."Blame it on my grandmother. Whenever I was distressed, she would tell me everything was going to be tickety boo. It became our code for "I'm okay.""

"Lemonade's not too tart, is it? Does it need more sugar?"

"No, it's perfect." Azira continued to take small sips, trying to ignore the ache in his jaw muscles that made him want to giggle hysterically. 

Crowley took a swallow of his own drink and smacked his lips loudly. "Mm. You're right, It is perfect." 

"Just like you," said the librarian's brain. Azira became flustered at the boldness of his own thoughts. What he actually said was an attempted joke, "Modesty becomes you." Oh, god, was he flirting?

Crowley barked out a laugh. Whew! That was all right then. The farmer plated up the grilled cheese sandwiches with a dill pickle wedge and a handful of kettle cooked potato chips. He slid one across the kitchen table to Azira and set one down in front of himself. After retrieving his lemonade, he sat down. 

Azira stared at his plate. He wondered if everything moving too fast for him to handle. He was going to have to eat this in front of Crowley. There was no longer any hope that the food would be mediocre. The the sourdough bread had a golden, buttery, crisp and crusty exterior. 

All the words for all the sensations crowded into Azira's mind. The cheddar cheese had melted just enough to be warm and gooey, gluing the two slices of bread together in a passionate sloppy kiss. "Really?" He admonished himself, "I never should have let Anathema introduce me to fan fiction." A blush crept over his face as he remembered reading last night about a Sherlock Holmes and John Watson that Conan Doyle would probably never have recognized. 

"Azira? Aren't you going to eat? I promise it's not poisoned, see?" Crowley picked up half his sandwich and took a big bite, licking the buttery crumbs off his lips afterward. 

The librarian stared as Crowley chewed and swallowed, then he steeled himself for the inevitable. He picked up half of his sandwich and imitated the farmer. He closed his eyes at the first chew, because he couldn't help it. A forgotten memory of other grilled cheese sandwiches washed over him, his grandmother's kitchen, the feeling that he mattered to someone, that home wasn't always where you lived. He relaxed. It was going to be okay. This time.

Opening his eyes, he saw Crowley lazily crunching on a pickle, watching him with interest. "Looks like you got a little sun, angel." He remarked, pointing the other end of the pickle in the direction of Azira's face. "You didn't put on sunscreen did you?"

Azira began to feel a little silly for being worried about what Crowley would think of him while he ate. All day he had shown him nothing but kindness. Everything he had said and done were the kinds of things that showed he was a decent caring human being. "I guess I forgot." He said sheepishly, because it was the truth. But he wasn't sure if the color the farmer saw in his cheeks was from the sun or from mild embarrassment. 

"Of course you don't have too, If you don't want to, but You look like you burn easily to me. How's the sandwich?"

Azira took another bite and mumbled around the mouthful. "'S really good. Thank you."

Later, when he was back in his apartment going over the day's events, he would become aware of how Crowley gently guided the lunch conversation, putting him at ease, until he found himself able to forget his self consciousness. They talked and laughed till their cheeks ached without any help from the lemonade. A potato chip crunching war was conducted, with their mouths open for effect, even though they were both pushing forty. There wasn't anyone there to tell them not to. 

\---------------

After lunch, the clean up was easy. Azira wiped down the table and Crowley washed the plates and put them away. Bo and Boo had come back inside. Bo was leaning heavily against Crowley's legs while he was at the sink. The cat was orbiting close to Azira, who was trying very hard not to step on his tail. "Darn cat! Be still, why dontcha!" 

"He's telling you the same thing," grinned Crowley while drying his hands on a towel. "How about a tour of the house before I take you home?" 

The librarian felt a whisper of disappointment at the thought of leaving. His good mood was tempered as he chastised himself for thinking how lonely his apartment would feel when he got back. He'd managed just fine on his own for many years now. He would continue to manage just fine, right?

Azira followed Crowley out of the kitchen. The dog and cat tagged along. As they moved from hallway to dining room to living room, Azira noticed that every room appeared to be in a state of unrest. Crowley explained that when he moved in, the house was full of almost forty years of his parents accumulated belongings. It was taking him time to sort through everything and decide what to keep, sell or donate. It was not fun and he had stalled a couple of months ago when growing season began. 

In spite of that, it was clear that the house had been well taken care of over the years. Many unique original features were intact. There was a large cast iron art deco tub in the downstairs bathroom, radiator heating, and dark stained doors with glass starburst knobs. The downstairs bedroom was obviously occupied by Crowley and looked like it was possessed by a grey storm cloud. The sparse monochrome decor was set off by the high white ceiling, with crown moulding and wide baseboards of the same color. 

Up stairs was another bath and three smallish bedrooms. Two were in a similar state of upheaval as the living areas downstairs. The third door was shut. Crowley pressed his lips together grimly and flung the door open saying with almost a snarl, " and this is the room where it happened." 

Aziraphale was taken aback by the burst of emotion he could feel coming from his friend. He stood in the doorway but didn't go in. The room was completely empty. The walls were a dingy, yellowing white with grey smudges in areas that had obviously had more traffic. There was a thin coating of dust on the floor and footprints in the dust that looked like they were trying to turn back into dust themselves. The windows needed a good cleaning. He turned to Crowley, perplexed. "I don't understand." 

"Surely you've heard the stories by now." Crowley arched an eyebrow. "Bad boy gets kicked out of family home after being found in bed with his best friend. It's not a secret."

"Oh, Crowley!" Azira turned pale and backed up against the wall for support. " I'm so sorry. How old were you?"

"Eighteen."

Azira groaned and slid down the wall till he was sitting on the floor, knees up with his face buried in his folded arms. Azira could hear Crowley get down on the floor next to him. With his voice full of concern, he apologized. "I thought you knew. The damned grapevine is usually so reliable." 

"Anathema hinted at something, but said it wasn't her story to tell." The librarian mumbled into his arms. Bo left Crowley's side and began to snuffle in Azira's hair, giving him a lick along one side of the face. He draped one arm over the dog and pulled it close.

"Good for her. Sorry, for springing it on you like that. I did tell you I was a rebel." 

Azira lifted his head. "What happened to your friend?"

Crowley looked away and shifted uncomfortably. "I never saw him again. His parents decided I had seduced him and he must not have said anything to the contrary. He went off to college a month later, got married as soon as he graduated, then divorced three years later. I think he's in California now. It doesn't matter." 

"Did you love him?"  
"I thought I did."  
"That must have hurt."  
"Yeah. It did."  
"Where did you go?"

Crowley actually grinned. "You don't need to feel too sorry for me angel. I never starved. Did sleep in my car a lot at first. I was used to hard work. I had the car and a little money to get me by till I found a job. The first place I headed was New York, state, not city. I didn't have any trouble finding jobs as a day laborer on construction sites or farms, until winter hit. Then I cleared snow, trimmed trees, cut firewood, did odd jobs, anything to make a buck. Eventually, After a few months or a few years, I would get to feeling too settled in one place, then I would move on. I got to see a lot of places and do a lot of things that I never would have otherwise." 

"But your family! Didn't you miss them?"

"At first I thought I did. But I missed the idea of family more than my actual family. I called a few times over the years. My mom would only talk to me when dad was not home. My dad never spoke to me again. See that empty room? It's my childhood room. That is what I found when I came back last year, after dad died."

"You want to know what I was doing the summer I was 18?" Azira looked at Crowley with watery eyes. "Preaching abstinence and purity to teens at youth rallies. I was a shining example, praised by the parents of my peers. That fall I went to a private Christian college to study theology. There were more youth rallies during winter break."

"Holy shit, Azira!"  
"Indeed."

They sat in silence for a few moments. Azira scratched behind Bo's ears.

"Crowley?"  
"Hm?"  
"I can't change who I used to be. I wish I could."  
"I don't think you knew any better. You did what you thought was the right thing."  
"Maybe. Maybe I was too afraid to do anything else."  
"Are you still afraid?"  
"A little. Not as much."   
"You know you don't need to be afraid of me, right?"  
"It didn't take me long to figure out that you are rather nice."  
"Rather nice! Next thing you'll be calling me a saint. No one would ever believe that."  
"I would."

Crowley groaned, "You're the angel, I'm the demon, remember?" He stood up and offered Azira his hand. The librarian took it and Crowley hauled him to his feet. 

"It's funny, but I think maybe you were actually doing the right thing and I was doing the wrong one all along." 

"Funny. Ha, ha." Said Crowley, rolling his eyes. "There's still things you don't know about me, angel. You might change your mind later."

Azira stubbornly refused to believe that was possible. He was feeling very optimistic as Crowley drove him home. They were firm friends now. The future could unfold as slowly as it needed to. He had someone to talk to, someone who knew of his deepest regrets but didn't care. They had agreed upon an arrangement to get together every Sunday, for hiking or whatever other activity they wanted, plus lunch. Next week they would eat at Azira's place. He couldn't believe how lucky he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter may not be till after Christmas. I've got too much going on.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cupid's dart hits its mark.

Monday afternoon, Azira sat down at the table alone, in the library's small break room. He had just retrieved his lunch from the refrigerator. He had a book in one hand and was eating leftovers out of a microwaveable container with the other hand, when his phone pinged. There was a moment of mild panic. Azira rarely recieved calls or texts. Having previously been something of a luddite, he'd only had a smart phone since he started this job and was still not used to it. Once he finally tapped the right icon, he saw that he had a text message...from Crowley.

"Hey" (That's it? Hey? What was that supposed to mean?)

"Hey yourself. You do realize I'm at work right now?" 

"So am I ;) Aren't you on your lunch break?" (How did he know?)

"How did you know that?" 

"I have my sources" (Anathema! Of course.) Azira had forgotten that Crowley used to come into the library during his lunch break, before they met. 

"What do you want?" 

"Do I have to want something to say Hey?"

"No. I guess not."

"What are you reading?"

"How did you know I was reading?"

"Duh."

"Oh. Yeah. The View From the Cheap Seats by Neil Gaiman." 

"Is it good?"

"Don't know. I just started when some ridiculous person texted me Hey." " I've never read anything bad from Neil Gaiman."

"Me neither"

"I thought you were into American authors."

"That's just my current interest"

"Crowley, my food is getting cold."

"Quelle horreur! Au revoir."

"Don't tell me you know French too."

"Just a smattering. Stayed with some French Canadians in Maine. Thought you were hungry, angel"

"Demon."

" Bastard" "In a good way" "See ya."

Azira smiled at the last string of texts and let Crowley have the last word. He shut the book and concentrated on finishing his lunch, knowing that trying to read now would be pointless.

\-----------------  
About 10 pm, Azira remembered about the CSA shares. He sent Crowley a text.

"Anathema told me about your CSA shares. Can you sign me up for one?"

There was no immediate answer. The librarian occupied his time reading Neil Gaiman's book until he couldn't hold his head up any longer. Then he turned off the bedside lamp and went to sleep. 

At 6 am Azira's phone pinged a few times in a row. He shot up in bed, confused and alarmed. His usual waking time was about 7:30. No one ever contacted him that early. Maybe it was an emergency. Hopefully, it wasn't his mom. He scrambled to unlock his phone. There was a string of texts from Crowley. 

"Sorry didn't answer previous, was sleeping."  
"CSA OK."  
"Deliveries on Friday mornings."  
"What time good for you?"  
"Cash or check ok"

"Are you always up at this ungodly hour?"

"Been up since 5. Cooler working in the early morning. Gets too hot by noon."  
"Early to bed, early to rise...."

"Better you than me. I guess I'll have to be content with fat, poor, and stupid." 

"I will assume you are joking"

"If I wasn't?" 

"You are better than you think you are. Your life is better than you think it is."  
"Look out your window"

"Why?" 

"Just look"

"I've looked."

"What did you see?" 

"A surprising number of people." 

"Uh huh." "What are they doing?" 

"Two people are walking dogs. Three chatty ladies just turned the corner by the gas station. Some guy jogging has passed them. Looks like he startled them, they are all giggling. There is a guy sweeping the gas station parking lot. He's waving at every single person that goes by."

"See what you're missing?"

"Yes. My bed."

"It's reality, angel." 

Azira didn't know wether or not to be offended. He wasn't escaping reality, was he? So he just answered, "You can drop off the produce at 8 if that's okay."

"Works for me. Later." 

The librarian sat down on the edge of the bed, wide awake now. What should he do? Going back to bed was probably not a good idea. He would be groggy the rest of the day. Sighing, he pulled on a pair of old khaki shorts and laced up his sneakers. He would go for a walk around the block, but in the opposite direction from the general flow. That way he wouldn't feel obligated to have a conversation with anyone. 

When he opened the door at the bottom of the stairwell at the side of the pharmacy, Azira was greeted by the fat green smell of morning in a country town. Somewhere nearby someone was mowing grass. Mmm. Bacon. Probably the diner or maybe a house. There must be a barn nearby. The breeze was just right to carry a definite hint of cow. A logging truck rumbled past, leaving the scent of pine behind to add to the mixture. Each odor seemed sharp and clear at this time of day. Azira wondered what Crowley's farm smelled like right now. 

He crossed the street to the sidewalk. The man with his broom waved and yelled, "Mornin' Mr. Fell!" Azira nodded his head, attempting to be polite. "Good morning." Oh god, he didn't know who this man was, but obviously he knew Azira. He set off at a brisk pace and turned to the left just after the town hall. He found himself on a residential street with a remarkable variety of home styles. He passed a Baptist church on the right. A little later there was a small park with picnic tables on the other side. The jogger he had seen earlier passed him with a wave. At the next street, he turned to the left again by a brick building that had a masonic symbol over the door. 

Now the three chatty women were coming toward him. They reminded him of Crowley's chickens, clucking away. "Hello, Mr. Fell." "Nice morning isn't it?" "Working at the library today?" Azira smiled and said good morning, but didn't even try to get a word in edgewise. They didn't seem to expect him to. The only one he recognized was Mrs. Michaelson. 

The houses were spaced further apart now with yards of at least an acre. The street he was on ended at a perpendicular road. To the left was back to the main street of town. To the right, the road lay loosely furled out like a ribbon, dipping and winding through fields of corn and soybeans, until a forest of pines hid it from view. Azira headed back to town. Bluebirds darted overhead resting periodically on the power lines that ran beside the road. They seemed to be following him.

When he got back to his apartment, Azira made himself a cup of tea before he got ready for work. He drank it after he decided to move his little table to sit under the window, so he could look out at the street below. Something in him had shifted. He was breathing easier. The feeling of dread that was a constant weight in his chest became a little bit harder to find. A tenuous connection with this place had blossomed, after months of holding himself separate. Hopefully that was a good thing.

\-----------------------

At 8 o'clock Friday morning, Crowley pulled into the gravel parking lot next to the pharmacy. He waved to the man across the street pushing the broom, then went round to the bed of the truck and retrieved a half bushel basket. Inside were some new potatoes, sugar snap peas, a bunch of green onions, swiss chard, a few sprigs of rosemary, a dozen eggs, and a pint basket of mulberries with Azira's name in black sharpie perched on top. There was also a print out with suggestions for how to store and prepare the produce, tucked into one side of the basket. 

Crowley opened the door in the side of the building and climbed the stairs. On the landing, there was no bell next to the door painted with a large capital B. So, he rapped sharply. When the door was opened, Crowley thanked the god he didn't believe in that he hadn't removed his sunglasses. His eyes widened with pleased surprise, but he managed to keep the rest of his face relatively sedate. 

He hadn't been foolish enough to ignore the surface knowledge that he was attracted to Azira. However, being attracted to someone didn't mean you had to pursue them romantically. He was admittedly a bit lonely, no matter what he had told the librarian, but he was not desperate enough to ruin what was turning out to be a comfortable friendship. His views on the matter took a sharp turn that morning. 

Azira's face shone at Crowley. He literally Beamed. It was obvious he had recently showered. His face was tinged light pink and his platinum curls were still slightly damp. He smelled of freshly ironed clothes, toothpaste, and something soft and herbal. His shampoo? Crowley ordered his nostrils to behave themselves. 

There was something else. Azira's complexion no longer looked like he'd recently been let out after years of living without sunlight. His face and forearms glowed with just faint dusting of gold. He must have been spending some time outside! Would wonders never cease. "Hello, angel." He said, softer than he intended. Azira reached out and put his hand on Crowley's upper arm to pull him into the apartment. 

"Come in. Let me take that. Would you like something to drink? Tea? Coffee? I have to go to work in half an hour, but you can stay till then if you want." One thing hadn't changed over the last few days. He was still occasionally as skittish as an untrained colt. 

"Thanks. I'll have to pass. Got more deliveries to make. What's up? Everything going okay?"

"Nothing's up. I mean, well, the sky is up, but that's not what you meant of course. Are these blackberries?"

"Nope. Mulberries. From the tree next to my house.

"Can I try one?" 

"Of course. They're yours."

"Oh! The payment! Wait right here." 

When Azira rushed off into an adjoining room, Crowley looked around the small apartment. The vibe was very much shabby cottage, without the chic, but with a 70's twist. Good lord, was that actually an avocado green and harvest gold crocheted afghan? One wall was lined with a variety of waist high bookshelves, not one of which matched the other. They were packed with books, some two deep. There were more piles of books beside the sofa and under the coffee table. 

He took in the tiny kitchen on the other side of the room, with the chrome and formica table tucked against the kitchen window. There was small pot of lemon thyme sitting in the window sill. Azira had been to the local garden shop. Crowley recognized the store's sticker on the side of the pot. Crowley got the distinct impression that if Azira left, the only thing to go with him would be the books. There was a feeling of impermanence about the place. 

Azira came back in the room with an envelope for Crowley. "Thanks, angel. I hope you enjoy everything." 

"That's silly. I should be thanking you." Protested Azira, looking at the basket Crowley had set on the kitchen table. "It all looks perfectly lovely and I know how much work you put into what you do." 

"Yeah. Well. Gotta go. We still on for Sunday at 8:30?"

"I wouldn't miss it for the world." 

When he got to the door, Crowley turned and asked the librarian, "Azira, are you happy here?" 

Azira looked down at his shoes with a small frown. "I'm trying." He said. "You've helped. More than you know. Besides," he smirked, "Even as boring as I am, I appear to be the hot topic around town. Everyone knows my name. I've never been this popular in my life."

"Don't let it go to your head, "Crowley quipped, then clattered down the stairs.

"Shit. Shit. Shit." He whispered fiercely after he climbed back in the truck and slammed the door shut.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't let the past bring you down. Enjoy the present.

As Crowley drove around making deliveries, he tried to talk himself out of the panic he was in. Azira was an unknown quantity in his life, a life that now had a calmness and rhythm which he was appreciating after years of living ready to move whenever the whim hit him. He was making a home in this place again, and he intended it to be a permanent home. Love had not been part of the plan. Who would have expected that out here in the place he was once banished from? Not him. He guessed he should thank the grapevine for the fact that no one had tried to set him up with any of the few eligible women in his age range. 

"The problem is," Crowley told himself, "you've got a thing for strays." It was true. Crowly couldn't help himself. He was always tempted to rescue untethered people and animals who showed up in his life. With animals it was easy. You fed and watered them, showed them a little affection if they let you, then they either stayed or moved on. That's how he ended up with Bo and Boo. 

People were different, weren't they? They didn't necessarily want to spend the rest of their lives joined at the hip with someone who petted, praised, and fed them, but didn't expect much from them. That wasn't the recipe for a healthy relationship, according to his former therapist. One such relationship had ended disastrously. 

He had thought he was helping to make up for all his first partner's past pain. It was shocking to come home and find a note saying he had been left for someone who actually wanted them as an independent adult not a dependent child. Later, he realized his ex was right. Then he was ashamed to find himself a little relieved that it was over. 

The second person he took into his life didn't even have the grace to leave a note when he left. Crowley wasn't surprised that time. It had been a grasping selfish kind of relationship, more feral than domestic. He had been much more careful since then, so careful that he hadn't lived with any one else in years. Crowley had standards now. His standards resembled Azira. 

Azira was so fucking lovable and smart and kind. He was just enough of a stray for Crowley to feel protective and want take to care of him, but he was also a functional adult who knew how to take care of himself. Azira didn't actually need Crowley to survive and Crowley didn't need him. He wanted him. He wanted Azira to want him back. Was this doomed to end up a one sided infatuation?

Crowley felt a compulsion to tuck the librarian and his books into his life and keep him there, but he knew it wouldn't be wise to move too fast. He sensed that if Azira wasn't completely comfortable with him, there would be no possibility of a future together. Crowley's stomach clenched at the thought. How had he arrived at this pitiful state in such a short time? He was going to mess things up, he just knew it. There was really only one thing to do, just keep on playing the game of life the best he knew how and accept whatever was in the cards. No cheating, no quitting. Maybe just a little bluffing. 

\-----------------------------------

At eight o'clock that evening, Crowley got a phone call. He was outside with a beer, sitting at the picnic table behind his house, watching the sun begin to drop toward the horizon beyond the cornfield. It was Azira. 

"Hey, 'Zira, what's up?"

"Ah, Crowley. I'm glad I caught you before you went to sleep." 

Crowley chuckled. "I do have the stamina to wait till after the sun goes down."

"Er. Right." Crowley heard Azira take a deep breath. "Anyway, today I remembered something that was on the CSA circular you gave Anathema. It said that people with shares were expected to give an hour of their time working in the garden each week. You never mentioned anything about it, so I was wondering if I could do my hour tomorrow afternoon."

Crowley was taken aback. He was fully aware that he had intended to let Azira off the hook for the hours in the garden, without a word. That was cheating wasn't it? Azira was better than that. He should have known.

"I thought you worked on Saturdays?"

"Only till one. Would three o'clock be okay? I read that the sun's ultra violet rays are less intense after that time in our region. Less chance of harmful skin damage."

Crowley's grin flashed in the deepening twilight. He recognized that Azira was tweaking him about his not so subtle hints that the librarian's skin looked delicate. Then he got an idea.

"Three o'clock is fine, but I have an even better idea that will decrease your chance of sun damage even more."

"Oh? What's that?" Azira seemed a little disappointed.

"I could really use some help with my parent's stuff. You know, getting the house looking like a home again, figuring out what goes and what stays. Would you mind working on that for me instead? You could start with organizing the books. I will give you free reign. It would be a load off my shoulders." 

"Oh! I'd be delighted." He sounded delighted too. "That sounds like fun. Are you sure though? I'm worried that I might get rid of something sentimental or put something somewhere you don't like. What if I do something wrong?"

"You're an angel aren't you? I don't think you can do anything wrong." Crowley got a pleased giggle in answer to that. Somewhere, he thought, a real angel just got his wings. "Besides," he added, "It certainly doesn't sound like fun to me and I'm not a sentimental person. You'd be doing me a huge favor." 

"Thank you so much! I'll be there at three." Azira hung up before Crowley could protest at being thanked for giving the librarian what was certainly going to be a boring and tedious task. 

\-------------------------------------

Azira pulled into Crowley's driveway in his little gold Kia, fifteen minutes before three. He was greeted with enthusiastic barking and tail wagging by the dog. There was a sharp whistle and Bo spun around and ran back to the farmer who was coming around the corner. "Hey, 'Zira! See you got a ride. Suits you." 

"It's just like me, cheap, unassuming, and comes with a spare tire."

Crowley glared at him. "I don't like it when people talk that way about my friends." 

Azira looked away. "Sorry. Bad habit." The librarian wanted to kick himself. His therapist had told him it was not healthy to cut himself down at every opportunity. He knew now that it was not his voice saying those things but the voice of his father, which had not yet been fully exorcised from his brain. Accepting compliments was difficult when he heard the voice repeating things like, "They're just being nice, it doesn't mean anything" or "Be thankful they don't know what you're really like." One day, when the therapist had asked him, "What are you really like?" He had been suprised to realize that the answer was not as horrible as he was once convinced it might be. Nowhere near, in fact. 

The librarian shook his head quickly and brought his thoughts back to the present. When he turned to face Crowley, he found himself being looked at with fond amusement. He shrugged his shoulders and smiled. "Well? Where would you like me to start first?"

"I thought the living room would be good. That way I can have a place for people to sit and talk or watch movies when they come over, instead of just the kitchen." Crowley said as they walked side by side toward the back door. He bumped shoulders with Azira as if to say, "By people, I mean you." It was nice.

They walked through the kitchen which led to the dining room in the front of the house. This room looked frozen in time, somewhere in the late 80's, with mauve and colonial blue accents. The other end of the dining room opened up into the large living room which had a picture window facing the main road and a fireplace on the side wall with an ornate, dark stained, wooden mantle and artisan tile surrounding the hearth. A long window flanked each side of the fire place. There were heavy burgundy curtains flanking off-white sheers at all the windows. Most of the furniture was pushed up against the walls. The large, handmade bookshelves against the interior wall were empty and covered with dust. Chairs were stacked precariously, and there were piles of books and papers, pictures in frames, lamps, and knick knacks, scattered around on the hardwood floor. Through it all was a path that led to a door which opened into a short hallway leading to Crowley's bedroom, a bathroom, and back to the kitchen. 

Crowley and Azira stood between the living and dining rooms surveying the mess. "You don't have to do this," Crowley said. "You can back out whenever you want and I'll find you a job to do outside." 

"When you said I could have free reign, did you mean it?" 

"Uh huh."

"You'll be okay with anything I want to do?"

"Yep."

Azira turned to him with shining eyes. "I'll do it."

Crowley breathed out slowly as though he had been holding his breath. "Great! Is there anything you'll need?"

"Yes, two medium sized boxes, some trash bags, and could you tell me where the cleaning supplies are?"

"I'll go get them. Be right back."

When Crowley returned, Azira was standing on a chair taking down the curtains over the picture window. Soft afternoon light flooded into the room. He set down the boxes and other supplies. "Well, I'll be out back working. Just give a yell or call me on my cell if you need anything. Have fun." Azira turned and smiled. "Oh, yeah, if you need anything to drink, just make yourself at home to anything in the fridge."

"Thanks, Crowley."

"No thanks necessary, angel. I'm pretty sure I'm getting the better deal out of this arrangement."

\----------------------------  
An hour later, Crowley found Azira sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the newly cleaned picture window, surrounded by books. He had a smudge on one cheek, an open book in his lap, and a look of intense concentration on his face. He startled when Crowley cleared his throat. "Oh! Is it time to go already?" 

"Well, angel, it wouldn't be fair of me to expect you to put in more time than everyone else, now would it?" 

"I wouldn't mind. Can I stay please? Just for a little while longer? I won't bother you. I wanted to finish up with the books, but I got distracted by T.S. Eliot."

Crowley, who was quite pleased at this turn of events, nonchalantly replied. "Okay, but only if you let me order us a pizza later. Do you want to borrow the book?" 

"Oh! Pizza would be marvelous! Thank you. I would love to borrow the book too, if it's no trouble." 

Crowley shook his head and ran his hands through his hair, trying not to laugh.

"What's the matter?" 

"You. I can't imagine you being any trouble at all. Ever."

The librarian huffed at him in obviously fake annoyance.

\-----------------------------------

Another hour later, a sweaty and grimy Crowley tramped trough the room on his way to get a quick shower just before the pizza came. He saw that Azira had sorted through all the fiction, putting over half of it in a box he had labelled "donate." The book shelves had been dusted and the titles Azira felt were worth keeping, had been shelved alphabetically by author. When he entered the narrow hallway, the librarian was just coming out of the bathroom with a damp, scrubbed face. They had to turn sideways and scoot along opposite walls to avoid touching each other. 

When Crowley got to the bathroom door, he said, "Won't be long. If the delivery gets here before I'm out, the money is on the kitchen table." Azira nodded silently and slipped back into the living room. 

The freshly showered farmer found his favorite librarian waiting for him at the kitchen table. The pizza had arrived and Azira had set the table. He looked up from the book of poetry for the second time that day. He slid the book under the table to rest on the seat next to his. Crowley grinned and opened the pizza box. "Dig in!" He said. 

Azira pulled out a piece of pizza, peeled off a piece of pepperoni and popped it in his mouth. Crowley saw his friend's eyes flutter shut and heard him let out a satisfied moan. "Hungry, huh?" Azira's eyes flew open and he stared at Crowley in horror. 

"Oh no. I'm so sorry. It won't happen again." He stammered, his face going white with anxiety. He put down his pizza and jumped up to get a glass of water. When he got back to the table he had color back in his face but a grim set to his lips. He pick up his pizza again, took a firm bite and began to chew it stoically, looking blankly into the distance beyond Crowley's left shoulder. 

Crowley was astonished. He didn't know what to make of Azira's obvious terror. He thoughtfully gnawed on his own pizza for a few seconds. "Azira, what was that about?" 

"What was what about?"

"The apology for nothing. I don't get it."

"It was nothing." Azira muttered under his breath.

"I know it was nothing. So why apologize?"

"Let's just drop it."

"No. I want to know what you think you did that made you act as though I might kick you out for doing it. Christ, you looked spooked. I don't want you to be afraid of me."

"I'm not afraid of you, exactly. I'm just not good at eating in front of other people, okay?" Azira was bright red now and looked miserable.

Crowley was beginning to get a glimmer of what might be wrong. He was also beginning to get a little angry at whoever might have done this kind of damage to his friend.

"Not okay. Who told you you were not good at eating in front of other people?"

"Nobody told me. I figured it out for myself."

"I've seen you eat before and there was nothing....Hey, you felt like this then too, didn't you?" Crowley was remembering the strawberries and the grilled cheese sandwich. "Somebody, somewhere said something to get you to believe you are shit at eating in public. Who was it?"

"It might been my father." Azira whispered at his plate.

"Who did your father think he was, the fucking archangel Gabriel?"

Azira snorted with what appeared to be chagrined amusement. "Well, his name was Gabriel." 

"Jesus Christ, Azira! You must be kidding, right? What in god's name did he say to get you so worried about how you eat?"

"He said I sounded obscene. And his name really was Gabriel. Please stop shouting Crowley."

Crowley was stunned. It was his turn to get up and get a glass of water. When he sat down again, he took a breath and said, "Azira, look at me."

Azira raised his head and looked at Crowley's chin. Crowley reached across the table and gently tipped the librarians head up with his index finger, until their eyes met. He retracted his hand. "Angel. You are not obscene. I cannot believe you have ever been obscene, and I've heard plenty of obscene things in my life. What possessed him to say that to you?

Azira's eyes slid off to the side. "You haven't heard the way I sound when I eat normally." 

"How could it be worse than what any one else sounds like when they eat?" 

"It just is."

"All right then. Let me hear it."

"What? Don't be ridiculous. I don't even know why we are having this conversation."

"You're being ridiculous for holding on to something hurtful that someone undeserving of your regard told you when you were a child. Just like me."

Azira looked back at Crowley and his face softened. "Oh, Crowley, I'm sorry."

"Eat your stupid pizza, before it gets cold. And stop telling me you're sorry." Crowley took a big bite of his pizza, leaned back in his chair and groaned loudly. "Damn, that's good! Is it good for you?" Azira kicked him under the table. He then proceeded to enjoy the rest of the meal, humming and purring while he ate. Crowley was so charmed that he ate much less than usual, preferring to watch Azira demolish the pizza which really was very good. 

Afterwards, they played a game of Scrabble and the librarian beat the farmer soundly. Just as Azira was getting ready to leave, Crowley ran out of the kitchen to get something. He came back with a DVD in his hand. "Have you ever seen this?" He asked. Azira shook his head and looked at him quizzically. "Take it home and watch it. For me. Think of it as a kind of antidote to what ails you." 

When he got back to his apartment, Azira brushed his teeth, put on his pajamas and got into bed with his laptop. He watched Crowley's movie, "When Harry Met Sally," and laughed till he cried. He slept very well that night.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken so long to get this next chapter up. Life has been a bear lately. I fully tend to complete this story, but I don't know how long it will take. I love these guys, they deserve a good life. There might be a little bit of a hiccup coming, but it will get sorted in the end. 
> 
> I didn't proofread this chapter. Sorry in advance for any errors.

Summer was coming quickly. The days were getting hotter and more humid. Every morning Aziraphale was out walking the circuit of his little town before work. He became a familiar face to the old timers and he was trying his best to learn everyone's names. He found out that the guy pushing the broom at the gas station across the street was the owner of the station.

Crowley and Aziraphale now saw each other casually at least three times a week, usually four. Crowley popped into the library every Tuesday afternoon. Sometimes he just leaned against the front desk and flirted with Anathema. No one was fooled. When he left, he always turned to Azira and said, "See you Friday." 

On Friday Mornings, Azira opened the door to his apartment just as Crowley was climbing the stairs with the CSA delivery. He insisted Crowley leave with a fresh cup of coffee and a piece of whatever treat he had decided to bake the night before. Azira did not drink coffee. Hot tea or cocoa was his morning drink. He bought a tiny coffee maker after he found out that Crowley liked coffee. The first attempt was undrinkable. Crowley had taken a sip while standing in the door way chatting and nearly choked with surprise. After practicing, Azira had used only enough grounds to make a liquid that looked a nice cup of tea. After a lot of spluttering and croaking, Crowley assured the alarmed librarian he would be fine, if Azira let him demonstrate how to make a good, robust cup of coffee. It had been fit to drink since then. 

Azira did not know that Crowley saved the best produce for him, sometimes adding things to the basket that other customers did not get. 

On Saturday's, Crowley had started manning a booth at the town farmer's market. He had given Azira an extra key to his house, in case he wasn't back home in time to let him in to work on the reorganizing. Since it was sweltering by midday, Crowley now spent Saturday afternoons from two to four in the house with Azira. He worked in his garden in the cooler evenings, after Azira went home. 

The living room was finished and looked great, uncluttered and homey. The furnishings were still old, but there was a lot less of them. The walls and windows had been washed down. Bamboo blinds had been hung, instead of curtains. A variety of houseplants had found their way in front of the picture window, including an orchid from Aziraphale. The book shelves were tidy, with room for a lot more books. 

Very few pictures hung on Crowley's walls. The family portraits had been boxed and put in the attic. A sofa, a couple of squashy armchairs, and a few small tables for lamps and cups of cocoa were arranged around a large wool area rug to cozily highlight the beautiful fireplace, above which hung the latest in smart televisions. Azira had protested the addition of the modern monstrosity. Crowley won. They were now working on the dining room.

On Sunday mornings they went trail walking for an hour or two. They would go back to Crowley's place, talk, eat lunch, and watch a movie. At least it was called watching a movie. Half an hour in, the farmer would be stretched out asleep on the sofa and Azira would have lowered the volume and broke out a book to read. When it rained, they each stayed in their own homes and slept in. After they finally rolled out of bed, they were grouchy and miserable the rest of the day. 

The elephant in the room was not addressed. What was this relationship and where was it headed? Neither one of them spent as much time with anyone else as they did with each other. They had progressed to small touches. Crowley might pat Azira on the back or give his shoulder a little squeeze as he walked by. Azira might give Crowley a playful shove or gentle whack on the arm when teased. 

Crowley invited Azira to his place for a cookout on the third of July. He explained that the small country county they lived in held its fireworks on the third so that people could go into the big city to see the more spectacular displays on the fourth. Azira brought potato salad and a fresh blackberry pie, made from berries Crowley had put in his CSA basket. He also brought a bottle of Spumante, thinking it would be nice to have with the pie while they watched the fireworks from Crowley's back yard. He had been assured that it was a prime viewing location.   
\-------------

Azira arrived at Crowley's house around six. There was still plenty of daylight left. It wouldn't start getting dark till at least eight. The grill was already fired up. The picnic table was set. Crowley was nowhere in sight, so Azira left his contributions to the feast on the table and just walked into the house, without thinking. Crowley was pulling condiments out of the fridge and didn't see the librarian come in. When he turned around, he startled and dropped the ketchup. Azira's hand flew to his mouth. "Oh! I'm sorry! I didn't knock. What was I thinking? This isn't my house. I mean, obviously it's not my house, it's just that..." He wasn't quite sure where he was going with that monologue so he shut up and stood there looking flustered.

Crowley bent down to pick up the ketchup. When he straightened up, he grinned at his friend. "Don't worry about it. It's not like you caught me in the nude." Azira flushed an even deeper red. "Here, take these things outside. I'll get the burgers out of the fridge. Do you want a beer or a soda?"

"I'll take a soda, thanks."

"I've never seen you drink. Personal choice? Aversion to alcohol?"

"No, nothing like that. I just don't like the taste of beer."

Crowley gave Azira of those thoughtful looks that made him feel squirmy inside. "I'll have to remember that," He said.

Azira looked away. "I did bring some Spumante for later. I thought it would be nice to have during the fireworks. All fizzy. You know, celebratory."

"Sounds great, angel. I feel like celebrating."

Something in Crowley's voice made Azira look back. Their eyes met. This time the librarian squared his shoulders and dared himself not to look away from that mesmerizing golden gaze. He saw the twinkle of humor aimed at him and smiled crookedly in response. They gathered up the stuff that needed to go outside and opened the back door.

Azira arranged all the meal's accompaniments on the picnic table while Crowley got some ears of fresh sweet corn and the burgers ready to arrange on the grill. He walked over and stood beside the farmer to watch the proceedings. After a few minutes, Crowley casually laid an arm across his shoulders. Azira looked up at him in surprise but he appeared to be focussed on the food cooking in front of him. That's when it occurred to the librarian that this was a date. 

He had to make sure. It would be too embarrassing to assume and find out he had been wrong. "Crowley?"

"Hm?"

"Isn't it customary to have lots of friends over for cookouts like this?"

"All my friends are having their own shindigs."

"Weren't you invited?"

"Yes, I was. To a couple. Were you invited to any?"

"Just to Anathema's."

"I was invited to her place too."

"Why didn't you go?"

"Maybe the same reason you didn't." Crowley looked down at him. 

"Maybe," he said, clearing his throat, "One of the burgers is on fire."

"Oh, damn!" Crowley yelped. "Get me a plate, quick!" He slammed down the lid on the grill to cut off oxygen to the coals. A plate was retrieved, the burgers and roasted corn were rescued before they all went up in flames. They sat down at the table across from each other, laughing, talking, and eating. The evening was perfect, balmy with low humidity and clear skies. The food was simple and delicious. It was the first time Azira had ever had garden ripened tomato and roasted corn picked fresh that day. Crowley was astonished. He showed the librarian how to roll his hot ear of corn over the stick of butter set out on a plate. The librarian unaccountably blushed for the second time that evening. 

The two men tackled their dinner with gusto. Azira's tastebuds were very happy. He freely murmured and oohed his way though the meal, especially when eating the sweet corn. It was Crowley's turn to be mesmerized. He couldn't keep his eyes off Azira's face, there was so much going on, eyelids fluttering, quick darting looks, dimpled smiles, the way he ate his corn off the cob in small, precise bites and licked the butter off his lips between each bite. 

"Good, is it?"

"It's divine," answered Azira, reaching for another ear of corn. "Is this heaven?" 

"No, it's Iowa."*

"You're ridiculous. By the way, your cornfield is looking very lush. It does remind me of Field of Dreams. Are there any ghosts living in it?"

"No, but there is a secret hidden in my cornfield. I'll show you after we get all this stuff put away." 

"The pie and the Spumante are for later."

"They'll be the perfect addition to my surprise."

"What are you up to, you wily demon?"

"Nothing good. Are you going to try to thwart my wiles?" 

"That depends," said Azira, his heart doing funny things in his chest. He was suddenly tongue tied.   
\---------

They finished their meal and carted everything back into Crowley's kitchen. Azira washed up while Crowley put away the perishables. As the librarian was drying the dishes, Crowley came up behind him and put his chin on Azira's shoulder. "I'm glad you came." Azira stood quietly still and Crowley wondered, not for the first time that evening, if he was making a mistake. To him it felt like the right time to take the relationship a little further. Azira had lost a lot of his self consciousness around him, and Crowley was sure his interest was reciprocated. Those blushes and surreptitious glances were adorable. He just wasn't sure if Azira was ready to move on yet, or if he would think Crowley was going too fast. 

To Crowley's surprise, Azira put the towel down on the counter, turned around and gave the farmer a kiss on the tip of his nose. "Me too," he said, then ducked his head and went down the hallway to the bathroom. 

"Well. That was a thing." Crowley scratched the back of his neck and tried to come to grips with the fact that he hadn't seen seen it coming. Azira had just breezed past without warning. He blew out a breath. "Fireworks, here we come," he chuckled. 

The farmer was sitting at the picnic table with the pie, the bottle, a couple of plates and two glass tumblers, when Azira emerged from the house a few minutes later, followed by the dog and cat. "Look who wants to join us." 

"They better behave themselves." 

"Of course they will. Won't you, you sweet things." Boo and Bo, who were quite used to Azira by now, looked up at him with adoration and Crowley groaned.

"You've corrupted them. They'll never listen to me now. I'll have to call you just to get you to order Bo to play fetch with me." 

"Nonsense. Now where is this surprise you've been talking about?"

"You bring the pie and the plates, I'll get the bottle and the glasses. Follow me."

They walked straight back from the house, past the outbuildings, up to the edge of the cornfield. The corn stalks were taller than the two men, tasseled on top and covered with long narrow ears sprouting yellow-green silk. 

"Careful now, " Crowley said gently sliding between stalks, moving into the field.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Azira sucked in his belly and turned sideways, trying to follow without doing too much damage to the cornstalks or the pie. 

"Trust me." 

"Famous last words," grumbled the librarian. "I don't know if I fancy watching fireworks while ....Oh!" 

He was speechless. They were now standing in a ten by ten grassy clearing, a wall of corn on every side, the darkening sky overhead. In the middle of the carpet of neatly trimmed grass was a small pile of wood in a fire pit, ready to be lit. There were two adirondack chairs facing the fire pit and angled so that the arm rests almost touched but left a small space for a table just between the seat backs. The dog and cat were already making themselves at home, having shimmied through the corn before the more clumsy humans.

"You like, angel?"

"Like? Crowley, it's magnificent. How did you do it?"

"Magic," he said, waggling his fingers. "Put the the pie with the glasses on the table."

Crowley set about lighting the fire. When it had caught nicely, he shooed the animals off the chairs and encouraged Azira to take one while he stretched himself out in the other. "Isn't this nice? The fire will give us just enough light to see our food by and will keep the mosquitoes away."

Azira leaned back in his chair and sighed. "It is very nice. You didn't have to go through all this trouble (for me)." 

"It was worth it." 

They sat for a few minutes in companionable silence watching the stars appear as the sky turned inky black. There was very little light pollution in that corner of the county, and Crowley had made sure to turn off the house lights. "I've never seen this many stars in my life," said the librarian.

Crowley pointed out a few constellations. "They are even more clear out west," he said. "The sky feels bigger somehow."

"Don't tell me you were a cowboy."

"All right, I won't." 

"Were you?" 

"You told me not to tell you." Azira rolled his eyes and gave Crowley a soft punch in his bicep. "In a way, I guess I was. I was a ranch hand for a while and did some cowboy type stuff." 

"Do you miss it?"

"Not really. I was always restless, looking for a place to settle down. I never found it, till now."

"I'm glad you're here." Azira echoed Crowley's earlier sentiment.

"Me too." The farmer responded, looking over at his very dear friend. The specter of the kiss hung in the air.

"The fireworks should start soon. How about some pie?" Azira sat up and dished out a piece of pie for each of them while Crowley poured Spumante in their glasses. "To good friends." He said lifting his glass.

"To new beginnings." Countered Crowley, tapping his glass to Azira's. 

"To new beginnings." Azira echoed with a small smile. The first of the fireworks went off with a bang. The cat shot out of the clearing. The dog leapt into Crowley's lap and shivered. Crowley's pie ended up in the grass between the two seats. He and Azira bent down to retrieve the plate at the same time knocking their heads together. 

"Ow!" Yelled the blond, rubbing his head. Crowley started laughing. "It's not funny." Bo decide Azira needed first aid and hung over the side of Crowley's chair to lick his face, knocking the librarian's drink over. Crowley howled even louder confusing the dog even more. The fireworks were blasting away in the distance. Confusion reigned for a couple of minutes. Finally, Azira pulled the dog into his own lap, wrapped his arms tightly around Bo and murmured in his ear till he settled down. Every so often he would cast aspersions on Crowley's character, while the farmer studiously pretended he did not hear anything. He lay back, ate a fresh piece of pie and watched the light show, a stupid grin on his face.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what I'm doing any more. I just write and rewrite until my brain says that's enough. This story is just a lot of mush I'm exuding through my pores.

The fireworks ended with the usual showy splash. Bo was resting heavily across Azira's lap. "I'm pinned down," he complained to Crowley with a smile.

"You can stay for a while. If you want," was the reply.

"Do you need to be up early?"

"Nah."

Azira showed no signs of shifting, so Crowley slid his hand over to the arm of the librarian's chair, palm up, an invitation. After a brief glance it was accepted. One smooth but sturdy hand touched lightly down onto the long, rough and calloused hand that was waiting. Fingers curled together. Both men stared at their joined hands for a few moments. Crowley finally tilted his head back against his chair and closed his eyes. "Penny for your thoughts." He spoke as though he was afraid of the answer but couldn't help asking anyway.

"I'm thinking I probably should not have another glass of wine since I'm driving home."

"I don't think there is much left anyway."

A pause. "What about you?"

Crowley opened his eyes and turned his head. "I'm thinking it's probably not a good idea to tell you what I'm thinking right now."

"Oh?" Azira began to feel a little spark of irritation. He was a grown man but it occurred to him that Crowley was acting as though he needed to be handled delicately, like some... "Are you serious?" He said, sitting up abruptly, removing his hand from Crowley's. "Excuse me Bo, I need you to to get down." The dog reluctantly moved so Azira could get up.

"Hey. Where are you going? I thought you were going to stay."

"I was." The librarian picked up his pie plate and started stalking off. Crowley quickly followed. 

"'Zira, let me apologize or something. Why are you leaving? We can talk about it."

The two men emerged from the cornfield into the dark yard. There was enough light from the stars to see the way to the back of the house. Crowley ran in front of Azira as he grimly walked toward his car. The farmer turned around and walked backwards, trying to catch his friends eye. "Please, Azira, work with me here."

Azira put the pie on the roof of his car so he could search for his keys. He turned to Crowley with a tired, resigned look on his face. "I'm sure you mean well, but I can take care of myself, you know. I'm not naive. You don't need to treat me like I'm not an adult. I know I have issues, and it takes me time to work through them, but I don't need to be coddled. I'm not a...." He stopped and glared angrily at the farmer once again, "I'm not a bloody virgin!" He spat out. 

Crowley stepped back. He ran a hand through his hair, clearly chagrined. "I deserve that, don't I?" There was silence. "Look. Will you give me five minutes? Let's go sit at the picnic table." Azira sighed and followed him to the table. They sat down a couple of feet apart staring out at the cornfield. There was still a slight glow from the fire.

"Shouldn't you go put that out?"

"Don't worry, it's fine. I'll get to it. Right now this is more important. There's things you should know about me." 

"You don't have to do this."

"I want to." Crowley took a deep breath and began to relate a condensed version of his life from the time he had left home till the time he returned and moved back in. He told about the many jobs that never lasted more than five years, the failed relationships, the depression, the therapy, the bar fight that landed him in the hospital with three broken ribs, and the short time spent in jail for being drunk and disorderly. When he was done, he glanced over at the librarian who was still staring off into the distance, but who no longer looked angry. "So, you see. It's not that I thought you were...untouched...not exactly. It's just that compared to me, you've lead an exemplary life. You've been, well....good. I don't want to bring you down to my level. And I don't want to make what we have into something to be ashamed of." 

"I'm not ashamed. I won't be ashamed." Azira said firmly, finally turning toward Crowley. "And I'm not as good as you think I am. Nobody's that good." He smiled fondly. Crowley inched a little closer. "I like to think I know you well enough now to know that, whatever you've done, you put your whole self into it. You've lived a full life. I admire that. Sometimes it feels like I've had half a life. I've avoided conflict. I've avoided embarrassment. I did my sins in secret, not realizing that half the time they weren't even sins. When I left the church, I had encounters, not relationships. I was ashamed of myself for who I was, what I had done. I was a hypocrite. I still believed I was a failure. You're not the only one who's been in therapy."

He reached out for the farmer's hand. "I like being with you. You have been so kind and nice to me when I didn't believe I deserved it, because of the things I've said and taught in the past. You accepted me as a friend, even though I used to be the sort of person who would have condemned you. Hell, I condemned myself. You've shown me what true grace is, something the church never did. I'm not ashamed to be your friend. I know I might act like a bit of a prude sometimes. It's a habit that may take a while to break."

Crowley turned on the bench and leaned forward to rest his forehead on Azira's. "I can help with that," he said in a low voice. 

"I'm sure you can." The librarian whispered back. "But do you mind if we take it slow. I want to savor every moment."

"Anything for you, angel. Can I kiss you?"

"Mm hm." Azira raised his face to Crowley, his eyes shining. The first kiss was a bit awkward because of the way they were sitting. Noses and chins got in the way as they took little tastes and sips of each other's mouths, hands on each other's waists. Crowley pulled back and grinned. 

"Why do I feel like I'm just an ear of corn to you?" 

"You should take that as a compliment," answered Azira cheekily, then dove back in for a deeper taste of Crowley's mouth. This time he made sure to make appreciative noises. 

Crowley pulled back again a few moments later with a light flush on his face, his lips red and wet. "Azira, maybe you should go home now." 

"What? Oh, Yeah. Guess I got carried away."

"That's all right. You set the terms. Unless you want to change them."

"No, no. You're right. I'm going. See me to the car?"

"Of course."

After Azira retrieved the pie from the roof of his car and put it on the back seat. He turned to Crowley who was looking self consciously away with his hands jammed in the pockets of his jeans. "You all right?"

"Yeah, angel, I'm fine. Just tired."

"This isn't going to work, is it? I'm being selfish, aren't I?"

Suddenly Crowley was right there, in front of him, standing in his space, his body mere inches from Azira's. He cupped his hands gently on either side of the librarian's face and gently kissed him on the forehead. "Please don't say that. I want us to work out. I'm the one that's selfish. I'll take anything you want to give me and be happy. Even if you just want to be friends. I promise."

Azira put his arms around Crowley's neck and pulled him in for a proper kiss. Crowley held his hands gently spread at Azira's waist, without urgency. He squeezed lightly and they broke apart. "What are you doing tomorrow?" Asked the librarian. 

"Work. You know. A farm doesn't run itself." 

"I've got the day off. Federal holiday. Would you like to come to my place tomorrow evening? We could have take out and watch Independence Day." 

"Are you sure you want my truck parked outside your building that long, at night? I guarantee it will be all over town by the next day."

"I told you. I won't be ashamed. Besides, I would bet that we've already been the subject of quite a bit of gossip." 

Crowley smirked. "You got that right. I was wondering if you knew."

"Are you kidding? This place should win medals for the speed at which news travels. Sometimes I think some of the old timers come in the library just to get a look at me and wonder about my proclivities. Is he, or isn't he?"

"Ugh. Sorry about that. Nobody's been ugly to you, have they? I can do something about it."

"I also seem to recall telling you that I can take care of myself. Being a preacher gave me some handy skills. I have the ability to disarm the most cantankerous bigot with my winning smile and my charming manners. 

"Not just cantankerous bigots, " said Crowley angling for another kiss. 

A minute later, Azira sighed, "I better get going. See you tomorrow, around six?"

"I'll be there."

\----------------

The next day was the fourth of July. Crowley was up at dawn. His breakfast was a couple of eggs, a couple pieces of bacon, a couple pieces of toast, and a couple cups of coffee. He fed and watered all his animals, worked on one of his tractors, tackled garden chores, mowed his large lawn, took trash to the dump, and washed his truck. When he got in the house, he put in a load of laundry, worked on accounts, paid bills, and made lists of things that needed to be done that week. His schedule was off because he had done the bare minimum yesterday, in spite of it being a Monday. After he felt mostly caught up, Crowley ate lunch, noticing that Azira had not taken his potato salad bowl back with him. He also noticed how empty the house felt.

After cleaning up the kitchen, Crowley headed for the shower. He spent a little too much time in there under the hot water, thinking of the curly haired librarian. Grimacing when he turned off the tap, Crowley decided he needed a nap. Dried, and dressed in only his boxers, he trundled into his room and flopped onto the unmade bed. Sleep found him an easy target. 

Two hours later, Crowley was up and dressed. He didn't want to get all sweaty again before he left, so he decide to be domestic. He brought up a music station on his new TV and sang at the top of his lungs while he vacuumed and dusted. Time on his hands, he also straightened up his bedroom and cleaned the bathroom for good measure. An hour before he had to leave, Crowley marveled at his productivity level that day. He spent the remaining time on the couch and scrolled mindlessly through shows he was not interested in, while the dog and cat kept him company.

Finally, he headed out and found himself climbing the steps to Azira's apartment with a bouquet of bright orange, wild lilies and the bowl Azira had left behind at his house. The door opened before he could knock. Azira, pink faced and slightly damp looking, beamed at the farmer. He planted a kiss on Crowley's cheek and pulled him in, shutting the door behind him. 

"Are these for me? How lovely! Thank you! They are everywhere now, aren't they? I always like to bring a little bit of the outdoors inside. Give me the bowl and I'll put the flowers in water. I'm babbling aren't I? I don't know why, but I'm a little nervous." Azira kept chattering while he went into the small kitchen. 

Meanwhile, Crowley's nose had told him he wasn't the only one who had done some housecleaning today. He also noticed that Azira had taken the time to make their take out Chinese food look like it was being served in a restaurant. The coffee table had been pulled out into the middle of the living room. The food was piled in bowls and on plates instead of left in the cardboard cartons. There were two place settings opposite each other with tea cups, chopsticks, and silverware. A pot of tea with a towel wrapped around it had a place of honor. Cushions were on the floor, on either side of the low table.

Crowley came up behind Azira as he was filling a mason jar with water at the sink. He slid his arms around Azira's waist and pressed a soft kiss into the nape of his neck. The librarian shivered. "It's just me, silly. You don't need to be nervous. Everything looks amazing." 

"Yes, well, it won't taste amazing if we let it get cold." Azira playfully pushed his friend toward the living area. He put the jar of lilies at one end of the table and they both sat down on the floor. It took a few moments for Crowley to figure out how to arrange his long legs. "Oh, dear. We can eat at the kitchen table, if you'd prefer."

"Nope. I like this. I don't want to spoil your fun, angel. But you might want to open a window, it's a little warm in here."

"Now that you mention it, I am feeling a bit damp. The air conditioning must be out again. Serve yourself while I go get the fan. "

Azira retrieved a box fan from his bedroom and placed it the open widow over his kitchen table. "There that's better." When he got back to the coffee table he saw that Crowley had loaded both their plates. He sat down with a little puff of breath. "Thank you, dear, that was very kind of you."

"Not at all," said Crowley, charmed. He adopted the librarian's semi-formal manners. "Tea?"

"Yes, please, "responded Azira, holding out his cup.

"Have you done this kind of thing often?"

The librarian flushed in a way that was not brought on by the heat of the day. His cup rattled on the saucer before he set it down. "No, it's my first time." His voice was low enough to emphasize his obvious embarrassment at saying those words. He ducked his head and began to tuck into his food. 

Crowley gave Azira one of his thoughtful looks then stretched his legs under the coffee table. He picked up a fried dumpling with his chopsticks and took a bite. After he swallowed, he waved the other half of the dumpling to get Azira's attention. "Guess what. It's my first time too," he cheerfully announced. Azira looked up in surprise. "Don't look so shocked." Crowley grinned. " And don't worry, I will not regret it in the morning." The librarian saucily stuck out his tongue. Crowley crossed his eyes and pushed up his nose.

"You're ridiculous."

"But you love it."

"Hmph. Eat your dinner."  
\--------------

After dinner, the pair cleared the food and dishes away. Azira pulled the coffee table closer to the sofa and set his laptop on a sturdy pile of books so he and Crowley could watch the movie that he had borrowed from the library the week before. It had been a small hope of his that this night would happen and he had prepared for it before he ever asked Crowley over. 

"There." Azira said, after shutting off most of the lights in the apartment and putting the dvd in the drive. "You sit here." He patted the sofa beside him looking at Crowley hopefully. The farmer quickly obliged, lifting his legs to rest his feet on the table next to the books. "If you're going to do that, take your boots off," scolded Azira. Crowley sheepishly complied. 

Azira leaned back against the sofa, feet on the floor and pressked play on the remote. Crowley shifted next to him. "Why do I feel like I'm following some kind of script? I think I'm supposed to put my arm around you next," he teased. 

"Well, what's stopping you?"

"Is that what you want?" 

"Isn't it customary?"

"Customary? Nobody talks like that, angel. I just get the feeling you want this to go a certain way and I don't want to mess it up for you. Tell me what you need from me, I'll take it from there."

"This is going to sound juvenile." 

"I promise not to laugh."

"I want you to just hold me while we watch the movie."

"You want to cuddle."

"I knew it would sound stupid." 

"Come here." Crowley pulled Azira into his side as the opening credits rolled. "You may regret this later. It's still quite warm. Hope I remembered to put on my deodorant today." 

Azira wiggled and squirmed under Crowley's arm until he found a comfortable position, leaning over with the top of his head tucked into the side of the farmer's neck. Crowley brought his free hand up and ran his fingers through Azira's blond curls a couple of times. The librarian let out a sigh and relaxed. It only lasted a few moments. "You've never done this before either. Have you?" It was more of a statement of recognition than a question. Azira tensed, then gave a small shake of his head.

"Can we talk about it later? I just want to enjoy the movie."

"Anything you say, angel."  
\---------------------

About halfway through the movie, Crowley tapped Azira on the knee. "How about an intermission?" 

"Oh. Yes. That's a good idea. Can I get you something to drink? Wine, beer, soda?"

"Thought you didn't like beer."

"I don't, but I thought you might like some, so..."

"Sure, that's fine. I'll be back." Crowley headed for the bathroom while Azira got their drinks and a bowl of nuts. When he got back he flopped on the couch and said, "Okay, you want to talk before we get back to the movie?"

"What about?" Asked Azira, grabbing a handful of nuts and avoiding Crowley's gaze.

"Well, after what you said to me last night, I don't know what to think. It's hard to imagine someone as warm and caring as you never...doing what we've been doing tonight. I mean, well, are you saying you've hit home runs but you've never even been to first base?" 

"Ah. A sports metaphor. Let's just say that my team never played the same team twice, and the games I played almost always ended in a one to one tie. Every hit was a home run because there was only one base. 

"And you were happy with that?"

"What do you think? I was over thirty and back in school. I was depressed and angry that I had wasted so much time and had missed out on so much. I went a little bit off the rails, in a self controlled way. I set out to educate myself on various, um, topics and found people willing to help me learn what I wanted to know. I had a list. Happiness wasn't on it.

"A list? You're kidding me."

Azira made a face. "Unfortunately not. Lists keep me grounded. They give me goals to live for and remind me of what I've accomplished. They make me feel like I'm not spinning out of control or drifting."

"Weren't you lonely?" 

"Of course I was, but I was used to it. I've been lonely most of my life. I've never expected people to want to be a part of my life just because they like me. It still surprises me when they do."

Crowley took a sip of his beer. "Man, Azira, you keep surprising Me. I don't know how any one could not like you. What about now? Do you still keep lists?"

The librarian smiled, "Yes, I do. Every year I start a new journal to house all my lists. Let me show you something." He got up and went to the table at the end of the sofa and opened up a drawer, retrieving a composition notebook. After sitting back down next to Crowley, he said, "I want to show you one of my lists for this year." Azira opened the book, turned few pages and held it out, for Crowley to see.

Crowley set down his beer and put his hands over Azira's, helping him hold the notebook. "List of Firsts" he read. He glanced over at Azira who was watching his face. Skimming over the first page of the list, Crowley could see that whenever the librarian had done anything positive for the first time, no matter how small, he recorded and dated the event. There were small jobs he had learned at the library, foods and drinks he had tried, places he had been, and much more. Crowley turned the page. He saw their first meeting. Further down was Azira's first walk in the woods. Later was his first morning walk around the block. Soon, almost every line had things they had done together or that Crowley had introduced him to. As he reached the end, Crowley saw a record of yesterday's firsts, including the fresh tomato and roasted corn. The last item was "First kiss from Crowley." 

Crowley took the book from the librarian's hands, closed it, set it on the sofa, and pulled him in for a kiss. He noticed that Azira didn't seem very enthusiastic, so he stopped and looked at him with a question in his eyes. "It's not you, dear," Azira said, "it's the beer." 

Crowley laughed. "I should have seen that coming. Come on, let's finish the movie."

"Just a minute. My turn for the bathroom."

When Crowley heard the bathroom door shut, he picked up the journal and idly flipped the pages. Most of the lists looked pretty mundane, related to the practical aspects of life, job, and apartment. Near the end of the book, however, one list caught his eye, a "List of Wants." Crowley quickly realized this was Azira's list of things he had never had or done, but that mattered to him. Number one, at the top of the list, was HAPPINESS in capital letters. There were also things like: hold hands with SO in public, slow dance with SO, share a piece of cheesecake with SO. At first Crowley wondered who in the heck SO was. When he saw "cuddle with SO," he smacked his forehead. Most of this list had been written before Azira and he began spending so much time together. 

Hearing the water running in the bathroom, Crowley's glance hurried down the page to the end of the list, then he shut the book and laid it back on the sofa. He leaned back and shut his eyes, a bit shaken by what he had read. The last few items on the list were:

40\. A garden  
41\. A pet  
42\. A home of my own  
43\. A life partner  
44\. Sex with someone who loves me.

When Azira got back, he picked up his notebook to put it away. Crowley gathered him back up in his arms and they finished watching the movie.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Woah oh oh feeelings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of the implied homophobia occurs in this chapter. Also, a heads up, I cried while writing this.

The movie ended some time ago. Crowley was lying with his head on Azira's lap and his stocking feet on the arm of the sofa. His eyes were shut, his hands laced together over his abdomen. He had decided it was easier than watching the librarian scrutinize his face, placing a small kiss on each feature and scar while talking all the while about the latest book he was reading. He wasn't about to ask him to stop. Two sharp raps on the apartment door were enough to do that. 

Crowley shot up. Azira looked perplexed. "Who could that be at this hour." It was getting close to eleven.

"You want me to answer it, angel?" 

"No. You stay there."

Azira unlocked the door and opened it a couple of inches. It was his landlord. "Mr. Helldane!" He exclaimed, letting the door swing open further. "Is everything all right?"

"I certainly hope so, Mr. Fell. I thought it would be in your best interest to remind you that your lease states there are to be no overnight guests in the apartment without advance permission." Mr. Helldane craned his skinny neck to look past Azira into the room behind him. His eyes narrowed. "Anthony." 

Azira turned and looked at his friend. "Mr. Helldane," Crowley responded, in the coldest voice the librarian had ever heard him use. The two glared at each other in a stretch of silence, until Azira rushed out with, "Nobody's staying over night, Mr. Helldane. Crowley was just getting ready to leave. Weren't you dar...darn! Look at the time. That movie was longer than I thought it would be. So thoughtful of you to stop by. Wouldn't want to keep you. Bye now." Azira kept stepping forward so that Mr. Helldane was obliged to retreat. When his feet backed up over the threshold, the librarian waved, "Ta, ta" and shut the door. 

The two men held their breath until they heard the grumbling landlord make his way down the stairs and out the exterior door. "That son of a.."

"Crowley!"

"Great pustulent bollocks, Azira! That man makes me want to breath fire."

"Why? What's he done to you?"

"He's Luke's father."

"Luke? Oh, yes. Luke." The librarian remembered the story of Crowley and his friend.

"I had no idea he owned this building. Shouldn't be surprised though. He's got his fingers in a lot of pies. Oh, shit, Azira. He knew I was here, or he wouldn't have come up. This is not good. I'm so sorry."

"Come on Crowley. How bad can it be? We haven't done anything wrong."

"You'd be surprised what he thinks is wrong. Let's have a look at your lease."

Azira pulled the lease out of the same end table his notebook was in. Crowley grabbed it and started turning pages. "Here! No damages, no pets, no smoking, blah, blah, aha! Look--no alcohol, no guests after midnight without permission from landlord. Any infraction can result in eviction with one month's notice and no return of deposit." He can't get you for the guest thing, but the alcohol is another story." Crowley pointed to his beer bottle and Azira's half finished glass of wine. 

"I don't remember reading that when I signed. Do you really think he would be so petty?"

"You bet your boots I do. I ruined his son. I'm the devil's spawn to him."

"But Crowley, this isn't about you. I'm the one with the lease."

"I know, angel. Maybe it'll be okay. Please tell me if he tries anything. I guess I'll be going. See you Friday." He gave Azira a quick hug and was gone before the librarian could say anything else. The room felt empty. Azira remembered he had work in the morning and got ready for bed. 

\-----------------

The next day was a Wednesday and Azira had to work till eight pm. He had a mild headache all day, just enough to make him answer Anathema curtly when she came in for work at one and asked him slyly how his fourth had been. 

"Fine."

"Just fine? From what I heard..."

"No. Just no. I don't want to know what you heard about me. I'm tired of feeling like an insect under a microscope. I'm tired of always being polite when I don't feel like it. I'm tired of ....of... of..."

"What time did you get to bed last night?"

"What exactly are you implying?"

"Azira. Go take a break. Have a cup of tea. Fifteen minutes. I'll cover for you."

The librarian's scowl softened slightly. "You're right, my dear. I could use a cup of tea. Thank you."

Azira made himself a strong, hot cup of tea with just a splash of milk. At the first sip he could feel the tension oozing out of his shoulders. After two more sips, he got out his phone and sent a text to Crowley.

"Are you doing okay? I miss you. Crazy, huh?"

Five minutes later, he recieved a reply. "Crazy good! :) Call me when you get home." 

Azira noticed Crowley didn't answer the first question. He sent a return message, "Will do." The tea was finished, the cup rinsed, and the librarian went back out to the front desk to apologize to his friend and fill her in on a general outline of the events of the past couple of days. 

Anathema squealed with delight. "I'm so happy for you two. I know other people will be too."

"Anathema." Azira's voice held a warning. "This is to go no further. We haven't even defined what our relationship is. I don't know if we are ready for that yet."

"Hey, don't worry about me. But eventually you guys will have to make some kind of public declaration, or someone else will do it for you, and in a way that may not be pleasant."

"I know. Why do people feel they have a right to meddle in other people's love lives?" 

"So, it's love, is it?"

"Hush, you."

\-------------------------

That night, Azira got home and changed immediately into light cotton pajama pants and a t-shirt. He stuck some leftover Chinese food in the microwave and dialed Crowley. 

"Hey, angel."

"Hi, Crowley."

"I was thinking. If everything goes pear shaped, you can come stay in my guest room."

"Listen to yourself. It's not the end of the world. Nothing's going to happen that I can't handle. I'm sure Mr. Helldane will listen to reason if need be."

"You don't know that. People like him don't listen to anyone. This is just insurance."

"I don't need your insurance and I'm not going to go borrowing trouble."

"Azira, will you listen to reason?"

"That's enough, Crowley. I don't want to talk about this anymore. I'm tired and I'm hungry."

"Fine."

"Fine." 

Crowley hung up before Azira. The librarian ate a few desultory mouthfuls of his dinner and put the rest back in the fridge. He drank a cup of camomile tea, brushed his teeth, and crawled into bed.

\-----------

On Thursday, Azira locked away all thoughts of Crowley and focused on his job. Ariel, the assistant librarian in charge of children's programs, had asked him to take over morning story time and craft while she and her husband went away for a long weekend cruise. He found himself enjoying it much more than he expected and the preschoolers loved the sound effects and different voices he made while reading. The rest of the day went by without incident. 

Around eight o'clock, Azira's phone pinged. It was a text from Crowley. "Goodnight, angel. See you tomorrow morning." 

"Goodnight, demon. x"

"X"

\-------------------  
On Friday morning, Crowley brought Azira a small box of homemade fudge, with the CSA basket. They had a breathless make-up make-out session, standing in the doorway of the apartment. 

Early that morning at work, Anathema answered the phone and appeared to get into a heated argument with a patron. Azira watched with awe as she put her most passive aggressive bitchiness on display, ending the call with "I'm sure a nice person like you couldn't possibly be so hateful. Have you had your coffee yet? I hope you feel like a human being tomorrow. " When she hung up, she muttered "Idiot" under her breath. 

"What was that all about?"

Anathema looked like she was going to cry. "Never mind. I need to go talk to Sandy about something."

Story time went well again, but the turn out was a little smaller. Many of the mothers took the time to thank Azira and tell him how much they appreciated his involvement. A couple of them gushed so much it was slightly embarrassing.

\---------------

On Saturday, Anathema showed up to work looking like she'd was trying out for a rainbow fashion event. 

Azira took one look at her and said, "Making a statement, are we?" 

"As a matter of fact, yes." 

Saturday story time in the summer was notoriously light, and today was no exception. Most families spent the day together on out of town activities like going to the beach or pool. There were less than half a dozen young kids from ages two to five, and just as many adults as children, both mothers and fathers this time. The parents all shook Azira's hand as they left and the little ones were prompted to wave and say "Thank you, Mr. Fell." 

Azira was glowing with good will when he turned from the doorway. "Aren't they sweet?" He said to Sandy who was standing by the front desk.

"Charming." She replied dryly. "I 'd like to see you in my office for a minute, if you don't mind."

Azira darted a quick glance at Anathema who appeared to be staring at her monitor. "Certainly." He followed the branch manager into her office.

"Take a seat Azira." After he sat down, she looked at him for couple of seconds as if gauging his possible response to what she was going to say. The librarian smiled nervously and started twisting the ring he wore on his pinky finger. "Azira, it's not evaluation time yet, but I wanted you to know that you have become a valuable member of the team here."

Azira relaxed a little. He wasn't there to be sacked. Sandy continued. "You have made steady progress over the last six months and I trust you to do your job well. We've had quite a bit of patron feedback about how helpful you are. That said, unfortunately I need to inform you that there have been a small number of complaints about you being a substitute in the children's program."

He sat up straighter. "I don't understand. Have I done something wrong?"

"Not at all. These complaints were not about how well you did your job. They were more of a prejudicial nature. The complainers were informed that all our employees have had a background check and your references are exemplary. However, It seems you've been observed regularly fraternizing with someone who is a known homosexual and certain conclusions were made." She paused so he could process what she was saying.

He went back to worrying at his ring. "Fraternizing. I see. I'm no longer just a librarian, I'm the gay librarian." He said it out loud for the first time and marveled that he did not spontaneously combust. "There is nothing I can do about this, is there?"

"On the contrary. All we need for you to do is keep up the good work. However, the regional manger has asked me to come up with a method to handle further complaints."

"The regional manager? Exactly how many people know about this?"

"Pretty much everyone in the system by now. You know how it is."

"Yes. I do." Azira squared his shoulders. "So what do I need to do?"

"First of all, if any one at all acts confrontational about anything, no matter what, you are to politely refer them to me. If need be, you will hand them over to whoever else is working that day and go take a break till they leave. The last resort is using the police call button. This is standard policy for handling argumentative or disruptive patrons, by the way."

"Second. I know you are very professional while you are here, but the higher ups want me to be sure to inform you, that while your private life is your own, there will be no public displays of affection at all while you are on the job."

"I understand."

"I am sorry you have to deal with this."

"It's not your fault. It shouldn't be surprising, but somehow it still is."

"You've accumulated some vacation time if you think a break would help. Not mandatory, of course."

"Of course. Thank you, Sandy." He stood up and shook her hand, then went back to his place behind the front desk. He found his hands shaking as he straightened his desk accessories, just for something to do. 

Anathema put a hand over his as a tear slid down one side of his face. "I think it's tea time." 

Azira cleared his throat."You are right as usual, my dear. If it weren't forbidden, I would give you a hug." He got up and went to the break room. 

After work, Azira found Anathema waiting by his car when he came out of the library. "I'm here for my hug," she said. "You're not on the job right now." Azira leaned into her embrace and that was enough to let loose the flood of pent up emotion. She patted his back and said encouraging things as he dampened her shoulder. "Anathema," he whispered, "I'm gay."

To her credit, she did not laugh. "Yes, I know." 

"Is there anyone who doesn't know?"

"I couldn't say, but I don't think it matters, do you?" 

Finally the librarian straightened up and stood back. "I think I need a tissue, if you have one." He said with a watery smile. Anathema rummaged around in her carry-all till she found a packet of tissues and handed them over. After, he wiped his eyes and blew his nose. Azira apologized. "I'm sorry. I haven't done that in a while. You are a good friend."

"I'm not the only one. You may not realize it, but you have a growing fan base. Lot's of people are willing to go to bat for you. We were even ready to get a petition going if you needed it."

"That's very kind of you, but I don't want anyone to go to too much trouble on my behalf. I'll be okay."

"Of course you'll be okay. You can be okay and still accept help from people who want to help. Just think of it as doing Them a favor.

"I don't think that's how things work, but I do appreciate it."

"What are you doing now?"

"What do you mean?" 

"I don't think you should go home alone yet. If you don't have anywhere to go, you can come to my house. My mom won't mind." 

"I usually go to Crowley's after work on Saturday's, but it's still early. He won't be expecting me for another hour."

"That's nonsense talk. Get in the car and go straight there. I'll text him to let him know you are coming."

Azira gave Anathema another hug and did as she said.

\---------------

About 1:15 Crowley recieved Anathema's text. It merely said, "Weeping angel heading your way." He dropped everything and ran in the house to clean up. 

In spite of taking one of the quickest showers he ever had in his life, Crowley found Azira waiting for him in the middle of his living room when he came out fully clothed, toweling his hair dry. "Angel," he said, dropping the towel and opening his arms. Azira walked straight in and pulled himself as close to Crowley as he could get. They held each other in a fierce hug for a moment, the farmer's face buried under the librarian's soft jawline. "Tell me you're okay," he mouthed against Azira's skin. 

Azira started talking. He went over the last two days in elaborate detail. While listening attentively, Crowley helped him out of his jacket and draped it over the sofa. He then proceeded to remove Azira's bowtie and unbutton the top button of his collar. He became distracted for a moment, when Crowley blew on his sweaty neck, lifting his chin and sighing. "That's when she said I had been seen fraternizing with a known homosexual." 

Crowley stepped back with outrage written on his face. "Fraternizing? She actually said that? What did You say?" 

Azira reached out anxiously as if to bridge the sudden gap."What could I say? I was as astonished as you are." 

"Mr. Helldane."

"Crowley, you don't know that."

"That's the kind of thing he would say. Cheapening our relationship, making it sound like something sordid. He's just bent on revenge, I tell you."

"It's been almost twenty years. People change. We've changed." Azira argued.

"Not really though. Think about it. We've just become more mature versions of our true selves. You and I have a lot in common, where it counts. My parents never really changed, did yours?" 

Azira shook his head slowly. Crowley stepped forward, took the librarian's hand and lead him to the couch. "Come here," he said, sitting down and pulling Azira down next to him. "Finish telling me what happened." 

"Nothing happened. Nothing at all. I didn't get reprimanded. I didn't lose my job. I was just given a protocol for possible confrontation in the library. It's kind of strange, but I feel like the fear I've been storing up all these years was wasted. I don't have to defend myself. I don't have to run away or find another job. It's a weird feeling."

"I told you you would be safe here."

"Yes, you did. Anathema also said some encouraging things."

"Even so, I know you don't want me to say this, but Mr. Helldane is still unpredictable. I want you to see what I've been doing upstairs. Please think about staying here, at least for a little while, if you get kicked out of your apartment."

"All right, I'll look, but I'm not making any promises."

They went upstairs and Crowley showed Azira into his old bedroom. The floor and windows had been cleaned and the walls were freshly painted a pale blue. There was a twin bed, a dresser, a desk, and a book case, all oak with a natural finish. All that was missing was bedding.

"I like the color of the walls."

"You should, it's the same color as your eyes."

"Really?" 

"Yep."

"Where did you get the furniture?" 

"It was the furniture that used to be in this room. Dad had stored it in one of the sheds. I had to scrub a bit of grime off everything, but it doesn't look too bad. What do you think?"

"I think it's a very nice guest room."

"But?"

"But I don't think I'll need it."

"You are a stubborn bastard, aren't you?"

"Hmph."

Crowely backed Azira up to a wall and leaned over him. "Have I told you how much I love the color of your eyes?"

Azira swallowed. "I think you just did." 

"Time to stop talking." The farmer pressed his lips against the librarian's. They both opened their mouths slightly and took turns pulling each other in, breathing slowly over the rhythm of their heartbeats. Azira's stomach growled. Crowley opened his eyes. "Sorry," Azira whispered into his mouth. "I haven't had lunch."

"Come on, angel. Let's find you something to eat."

\------------------

Later that afternoon, when Azira climbed the stairs to his apartment, he found an envelope on the mat in front of his door. Sure enough, it was a notice from Mr. Helldane that because of alcohol use in the apartment, he was expected to remove himself from the premises before a month was over. He tried calling his landlord, but kept getting a message that his voicemail was full. He didn't tell Crowley.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mild angst and an epiphany.

It wasn't that the prospect of living in Crowley's home didn't sound delightful. It was the word "guest," which implied a short, temporary stay. Azira knew that once he was in the house with his belongings, he wouldn't want to leave. When the time came to move into his own place, his heart would be left behind. It would be emotionally hard to deal with, so it was better if he never took Crowley up on his offer. In addition, his father's voice in his head reminded him that "fish and guests smell after three days." 

Early Sunday morning, Azira went across the street to the gas station to pick up a local paper before Crowley came to pick him up for their walk. He looked through the classifieds for places to rent and circled a few likely prospects. 

The farmer was in a very good mood when he arrived. Azira was glad he had decided not to spoil things with the news of his forced relocation. They went to the same park where they had first walked, because the day was already quite warm and the trail wound through a shady, well established forest instead of out in the open sunlight. Crowley made a point of taking the librarian's hand in his own as they set out. They walked that way the whole mile and a half, even though their palms were very sweaty by the time they were done. When he got back to the apartment, Azira got to cross off one of the things on his list of wants. 

That evening the blond tried calling his landlord again with no results. So, he went online to try to find local rentals. He ended up subscribing to the county swap and sale site on Facebook. They had a few ads for places to rent. 

The next day was without event. Ariel was back from her cruise and took over the story time, thanking him for helping out. After he got off work and changed, he spent about half an hour calling all the owners of the prospective places to rent, with no luck. They were all either already taken or out of his price range. His budget was limited because he regularly sent money back home to his aunt who was taking care of his mother. He had found his current apartment through his boss, Sandy, but he was reluctant to ask anyone for recommendations this time, for fear that it would get back to Crowley. Azira was not discouraged, however. He still had the better part of a month to find a place.

On Tuesday, the librarian was looking forward to seeing his best friend pop into the library at the usual time. Through the front window of the library, he spied the black pick-up pull into the parking lot. A smile already on his face, Azira watched with anticipation as Crowley jumped out onto the sidewalk. Then something happened that ruined the curly haired librarian's day. 

A young man with a back pack ran up behind Crowley and put a hand on his arm. The farmer turned and appeared to exclaim with surprise. The two began an animated conversation with lots of handwaving and pointing. The librarian could not see his friend's face but something about the grin on the other man's face reminded him of the day he met Crowley for the first time. This person, however, was a good ten years younger with sandy brown hair. Crowley finally clapped a hand on the young man's shoulder and pulled him in for a bear hug. Then he grabbed the man's head and gave him a kiss on his hair. 

Azira had risen halfway out of his seat by this time to get a better view. He slumped back down and waited to see what would happen next. His cell phone buzzed on the desk in front of him. It was a text from Crowley. Looking back through the window, he could see the pick up leaving the parking lot with the two men inside. Confused, he checked his messages.

"Something's come up, angel. Tell U later."

Not knowing what to think or say, Azira just texted back, "Okay."

Mrs. Michaelson chose that moment to come into the library to return some books. She looked at the librarian and said with a smirk, "Why so glum? Did your boyfriend dump you for a younger man? I saw them driving off." 

The blond sat up and forced himself to smile. "He's not my boyfriend and there is no reason why he can't give a ride to anyone he wants."

The elderly woman gave him a knowing look. "Whatever you say, sunshine." She turned and left with a wave and a "Have a nice day."

"Have a nice day," he grumbled and twirled around in his chair to put the returned books on the library cart behind him. Anathema was standing next to the cart, staring at him. "What?"

"Why did you say he is not your boyfriend," she hissed under her breath. 

"Because he's not."

"What is he then?"

"A good friend."

"People don't go on special dates and make out with people who are just good friends, Azira. What's happened?"

"Nothing's happened," he protested, even as he wondered that himself. "I told you we never defined our relationship. So we are both still officially single. Crowley doesn't owe me anything. Besides, I'm almost forty. It's a little silly to be talking about boyfriends at my age."

"That's nonsense and you know it. Also, nobody said anything about owing anybody anything. Are you going to tell me what's up?"

"There's nothing to tell."

"Don't worry, I'll find out."

"If you say so, dear. I'm going to get a quick cup of tea. Could you mind the desk for a few minutes?" Anathema glared at him but sat down any way.

That evening, Azira checked his phone every few minutes until bed time. No messages.

\--------------------------

The next morning there was a voicemail from Crowley that had been left while Azira was in the shower. 

"Hey, angel, sorry I missed you. There's a lot going on right now. All good. I'll fill you in on Friday when I make deliveries. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

That afternoon, when Anathema came in to work, she smiled at Azira like she had a secret. He did not rise to the bait. When there was a lull in the patron traffic, she leaned in his direction, "I figured it out."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're jealous."

"You obviously can't read minds, dear."

"I don't have to. Crowley's got someone staying in his house."

That got his attention. Anathema nodded. "I knew it. Jealous."

Azira gritted his teeth and said under his breath, "How could I have been jealous about something I didn't know?"

"You knew something or you wouldn't be jealous."

"For the last time..."

"Do you trust him?"

The librarian exhaled. "Who?"

"Crowley, of course. He's a good guy Azira. I don't think you have anything to worry about. He's obviously smitten with you."

"Hmph."

Azira tried not to worry, but that was like a duck trying not to swim when there was water nearby.

\--------------------

On Thursday, Crowley's truck pulled into the library parking lot. Out stepped the young man whom Azira had seen the farmer hug. He suspected the fellow was also the house guest Anathema had mentioned. Azira watched him come into the library and quickly look around before he came up to the desk to turn in some dvd's. "These are Tony's. He told me he had some more to pick up and gave me his card." Azira frowned for the second it took for him to figure out that Tony was Crowley. Anthony Crowley, of course. 

"Certainly," he replied, attempting to maintain a professional demeanor. After retrieving the new dvd's from the hold shelf, he took Crowley's library card, scanned it, checked out the movies, and stamped them. 

After handing the videos to the man, he got a saucy grin in return. "You're Mr. Fell, aren't you? I'm Adam. I'm staying with Tony for a while. He's told me all about you."

"Well, then you have the advantage. I know nothing about you." The librarian was not quite snippy enough for Adam to get the impression that he was irritated.

"Well, hopefully I'll be around long enough to remedy that. Thanks, gotta go." 

"Good looking guy." Azira turned to see Anathema looking at him pointedly.

"I didn't notice," he said and lifted his chin in the air, trying to assume an attitude of disdain.

"You do realize you are being silly."

"Look, if Crowley is happy, I can be happy for him. It doesn't change anything."

"You really are thick. Didn't he look very familiar? That's a clue by the way."

The librarian sighed, "I'm sorry, my dear. I'm in no mood to be trying to figure out your cryptic statements."

"Okay. Just remember, I expect an apology when you figure out you've made a mistake."

Azira had no idea what Anathema meant by that, but he allowed himself a smidgen of hope that she knew something about Adam and Crowley's relationship that he didn't. 

\----------------

Friday morning, Crowley ran up the stairs with the CSA basket and rapped on the apartment door. In spite of not being sure of where he stood, Azira had Crowley's coffee ready. But the farmer said, "Can't stay, angel. Adam's waiting in the truck. We've got to go into the city today. Are you coming by after work tomorrow?"

"Well...I don't know..."

"Come on. We can throw some burgers on the grill. You can get to know Adam. It's a good thing you didn't need the guest room. I had no idea he was going to show up."

Azira was feeling conflicted. On one hand he felt a sense of relief that Adam was staying in the guest room. That meant there probably wasn't a more intimate sleeping arrangement involved. On the other hand, that room was meant for him! The walls were the color of his eyes, not Adam's. It didn't matter that he had told Crowley he wasn't going to stay there, it was the principle of the thing. Plus, now he couldn't move in even if he needed to. The other bedrooms upstairs were packed full of old junk that hadn't been sorted yet. 

"I'll think about it," he said, not realizing his brow had furrowed and his lips had formed a perfect pout. 

"You do that." Crowley smirked at him as though he knew what had been running through the librarian's mind and laid a quick kiss on his mouth. Azira was so flustered, he didn't say anything as the redhead ran back down the stairs and out to his waiting truck. 

When he heard the vehicle drive off, he shut the apartment door and sat down on the couch. His fingers ran lightly over his lips. By now he had lost count of how many times Crowley had kissed him and how many times he had initiated a kiss. It had always been very pleasant and often quite thrilling. This time however, something different had happened. When Crowley had pulled away he had felt a pain in his chest as though a piece of himself was ripped off and carried away with the farmer while he traveled into the city. It was both beautiful and horrible at once. "Oh, god," he thought, "I guess I'm in love. What am I going to do now?"


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Azira gets a call. Crowley gets a clue.

The library was busy that morning. Azira was grateful for the distraction. While sitting in the breakroom at lunch time, he went over the last few months in his mind. Since he met Crowley, his life had changed a lot. He read less for one thing. That was a little concerning. A reading schedule might be a good idea. He also spent a lot more time outdoors. His legs were no longer pasty white. Last week, he did his grocery shopping in shorts, another first. Both those things, and many others were because of Crowley. 

Life had become more interesting and more pleasant because of his friendship with the farmer. There had been things to do and things to look forward to, instead of the monotony of the days pre-Crowley. They had good times together, and they obviously liked each other very much. Azira, however, had no idea if the redhead's regard for him was anything more than for a friend who wouldn't mind the benefits of a physical relationship as a bonus. He had no doubts Crowley was very interested in him that way, even if he had been patient with the librarian's reticence. But did he love him? 

Azira wondered if it was realistic to continue to hold out for love. After all, there were no guarantees that the one you loved would love you back. Life was not a fairy tale, or even a rom-com. Maybe he should just give up on that dream, take what he could get, and learn to be happy with that. If he didn't, surely someone like Adam would be much more appealing to the farmer than a prudish, forty year old, preacher-turned-librarian. 

Who was Adam anyway? And what was he doing in Crowley's guest room? How long was he going to stay? Why hadn't Crowley actually told him anything about the young man? Yes, he was admittedly feeling a bit jealous. He was also feeling a bit angry and blamed the farmer for the lack of information that contributed to those uncomfortable feelings. Did Crowley even care how he felt about it? Was he being taken for granted? Well then, maybe he just wouldn't go to the farm tomorrow afternoon. Maybe.  
\---------------------  
The decision was taken out of his hands. That afternoon he heard the muted buzz of his phone on the desk and went to check it as soon as he finished with the patron he was helping. It was a voicemail message from his Aunt Martha.

"Azira, it's Martha. I hate to bother you when you are probably at work, but I need to talk to you about your mom. Call me as soon as you can."

The librarian found Anathema and explained that he had recieved an urgent call. "Can you man the desk while I call back?" She agreed and he went out the back door of the library to be alone while he talked to his aunt. 

"Hello?"

"Hello, Aunt Martha, it's me."

"Oh, thank goodness."

"Is everything okay?" Azira asked, even though he knew something was wrong or his aunt wouldn't have called. 

"It's your mother dear. She needs to go in for surgery next Monday and today the doctor said it would be a good idea if you were here."

"What surgery? Why didn't I know about this?"

"I didn't want to worry you dear. It is supposed to be a fairly routine procedure, but in her condition there might be complications."

"Perhaps we should start at the beginning, Aunt Martha." 

"Oh, yes. Last week the doctor discovered that your mother has an abdominal cyst that is causing her some discomfort. It is not cancerous. They need to operate to remove it and she should be back to her old self within a week, if all goes well."

"And there is a chance it won't go well?"

"Well, yes, albeit a small one. You know how your mother's been lately, dear. She's not a strong woman, but she is stubborn. Some days it's all I can do to get her to eat, especially when she thinks I'm hiding something from her. Her weight is lower than it should be. The doctor says that she may be in risk of stroke or heart attack during surgery or soon after."

Azira's mother's health had been declining since his father died a few years ago. In the last year or so, she had been exhibiting signs of the onset of dementia. His aunt had moved into their house a year ago to help take care of her. She was ten years younger than her sister and much more robust. It was she who had encouraged Azira to move out and start a new life. He owed her. 

"I'll talk to my boss right away, auntie," he said, using his childhood name for her. "I should be able to get some time off. Hopefully, I can leave early tomorrow morning and get there by nightfall."

"I didn't want to ask, but I thought you would be upset if anything happened and you weren't here."

"I know. It's okay. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Drive safe."

Azira hung up and went back inside to find Sandy. That evening he packed his suitcase and filled his car with gas. He knew it would be polite to tell Crowley he was going, but he could feel his stress level peaking. So, he did what had always been the easiest way for him to handle his emotions, he disengaged his mind from the recent past. Sleep found him almost as soon as his head hit the pillow that night. The next morning about, 7o'clock, he was on the road, headed North. It would be almost ten hours before he made it to his mother's front door. 

\--------------

Saturday afternoon, Crowley and Adam were chatting at the kitchen table, waiting for Azira to show up. The farmer checked his phone frequently, but there were no messages. About 2 O'clock, he stood up and stretched, not looking Adam in the eye. "Well I guess he's not coming. We'll have to eat without him. I'll go start the grill."

"Shouldn't you give him a call to see if he's okay?"

"Nah. I'm sure he's fine. Probably just tired or something."

"Does he do this kind of thing often?"

Crowley shrugged. "Not really. Never actually."

"Then what's the matter with you! At least send him a text."

Crowley was uneasy. Truth be told, he knew he messed up when he didn't tell Azira that Adam would be staying in the guest room that he had promised to the librarian. It was confirmed when Adam told him what Azira had said to him at the library. Then, when he had dropped off the CSA basket, he had seen that Azira was put out and made light of it. Now, because of a series of stupid little mistakes, and a reluctance to address them, the hole he had dug was just getting bigger and bigger in his mind. And he had a very good imagination. Their relationship was doomed. 

If things were going to explode anyway, he couldn't make it any worse. So he just texted, "Where are you?"

Adam was looking over his shoulder. "Oh, that's brilliant."

"What? It's a legitimate question!"

"I thought you liked him."

"I do," Crowley grumbled.

"I mean you really like him. Maybe even love him."

The farmer threw himself back down onto a kitchen chair and groaned. "Whatever gave you that idea? Is it because I've been making an ass out of myself?" 

"Yep. That, and you talk about him constantly. You let him redecorate your house. You have tea in your cupboard that you don't drink. And there is a mug with an image of a plaid bowtie on a shelf over your stove."

"Enough. I get the picture."

"So why are you trying to sabotage the relationship?"

"Are you trying to use that fancy degree of yours on me? I've been in more than my fair share of therapist's chairs, thank you very much."

"And you helped me get that fancy degree, if I remember correctly. I'm just putting my edumacation to practical use. So, tell your baby cousin what's wrong and maybe he can help you fix it."

"You are an insufferable prick."

"I learned from the best."

Crowley's phone pinged. He checked his messages. Azira had texted back, "Something came up. I'll talk to U later." 

"Oh, great! Now he's being passive aggressive." Crowley shoved the phone across the table so Adam could see. 

"How is that passive aggressive?"

"It's almost exactly the same thing I texted him the day I met you at the library."

"I see. Were you going to the library to visit him?"

"Well, not officially, but it's kind of a thing. I just show up every Tuesday around the same time. And before you ask, yes, I do it on purpose." Crowley added with a whisper, "It's nice." 

"Right. So why didn't you go in and talk to him before we left? Why didn't you introduce me?"

"I don't know. I had some stupid idea he might be upset if I told him you would be staying in his room."

"Wait. What? That room is his? Why didn't you tell me? I could have slept on the couch." 

"No, no. It's not like that. The room is technically a guest room, but I made it that way for him, in case he got kicked out of his apartment. He turned it down anyway, so I shouldn't have been worried. Now everything's a mess and I'm screwed."

"I'm lost. Could we start over? Explain how you got to this point."

Crowley and Adam never did grill those burgers. Instead they made sandwiches and the farmer talked while his cousin listened. He made sure not to share too much of Azira's past, because he knew how sensitive the librarian was about it. When he was done talking, he said, "Now you can tell me off for being an idiot."

"I don't think things are as bad as you think they are, Tony. What I'm hearing is a story of how two of life's survivors found each other and began to create something new and beautiful together. The question now is are you going to finish what you started?"

"I want to, but I don't know if he does."

"Then ask."

"What do I say?" 

"Maybe you better start with an apology. That can be done any time. Then the next time you see him face to face, let him know you want to make your relationship official, in whatever way that works for the both of you." 

"You make it sound easy."

"That's just because you like to make everything unnecessarily complicated."

"Shut up, brat."

\--------------------

Azira was road weary. He had not stopped for lunch yet. So, when his phone pinged, he exited the highway and pulled into the closest fast food parking lot. He didn't want to wait to check his phone just in case it was his aunt. The librarian sighed when he saw the text from Crowley. He wasn't prepared to tell the farmer he was currently in Pennsylvania. So, he just borrowed a phrase from the other man's texts. It was a cheap shot, but it had the effect of producing enough adrenaline to make him get out of the car and go get a burger and fries. 

He arrived at his childhood house a couple of hours later than expected because of traffic around Boston and a sudden attack of the munchies. When he pulled into the driveway, he sat in the car for a few minutes telling himself it was going to be okay. He would support his aunt and mother, then he would go back home and straighten out his real life. 

Home. It wasn't here any more. He belonged somewhere else now. Even if things didn't work out with Crowley, he still had friends and a job. People knew him for who he really was and he was okay with that. "Everything is going to be okay." He told himself. "I'm going to be okay." After taking four slow breaths, Azira got out of the car and went up to the door to ring the bell.

After his aunt let him in, they went to see his mother in her room. She was watching TV. "Azira, " she said, "you're finally home. I fixed you a plate it's in the fridge." He looked at his aunt who gave a little shake of her head to let him know his mother's mind was back in a time when he was still living at home. She thought he was just coming home from work. 

"Thanks, mom," he replied and gave her a kiss on the cheek. She beamed at him then returned her focus to the television.

"Do you want something to eat, Azira, " his aunt asked when they got back out into the living room. 

"No thanks. I'm going to get my stuff out of the car and go up to my room, if you don't mind. We can talk tomorrow."

"Certainly, dear." 

"Is there anything you need me to do before I go up?"

"Not anything that can't wait. Can I get a hug before you get settled in?"

"Anything for you, Auntie. You are a life saver. For both me and mom." He gave his aunt a squeeze around her generous middle and grinned. "You give the best hugs of anyone I've known." 

She swatted at him and said, "Get out of here before I ask who else you've been hugging." She saw the pink rise in his cheeks and crowed, "Oh, ho! We certainly will be talking tomorrow." 

After Azira retrieved his suitcase and lugged it upstairs to his room, he laid down on the twin bed and stared at the ceiling for a few minutes. His phone buzzed in his pocket. Crowley was calling. He let voicemail pick it up, then he listened to the message. 

"Hi, 'Zira. I know you're upset with me and I don't blame you. I should have told you about my cousin Adam. I'm not sure why I didn't. He's going to be staying in the guest room for a while but he's just passing through. It's still there for you, if you need it." 

Adam's voice broke in, "Don't worry Mr. Fell, I've already told Tony what an idiot he is so you don't have to do it."

Then came a fierce whisper, "What do you think you're doing!" 

"I think I'm making him see what a great guy I am compared to you."

Azira smiled at that.

"As if." Crowley retorted. Then his voice softened, "Goodnight, angel. I hope we're okay."

He wasn't ready to talk, so he sent a text back. "I forgive you. I'm at my mom's for a few days. I'll fill you in when I get back home. X"

The phone pinged almost immediately. "X"


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Azira talks to his aunt and mother. He is surprised. Not much Crowley in this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter references implied homophobia in Azira's background, and challenges with elder parent care. It shouldn't be too distressing, but just in case.

When Azira woke up Sunday morning, it was raining steadily and showed no signs of stopping. He went downstairs to find that his aunt had already been up and blueberry muffins were on the counter, along with a Sunday paper. He made himself a cup of tea and sat down to read the comics while he ate. A few minutes later, Martha came in with a plate and a cup in her hands. "Oh, good! You found the muffins. I was just giving your mother her breakfast. I'm sure it would make her very happy if you spent some time with her today."

"How is she doing? For real. Does she mind that I don't live here?"

"She doesn't seem to mind. Of course it helps that you call regularly. But she thinks you are still at your last preaching position. I've given up trying to explain that you are a librarian now. It just distresses her for me to disagree with her. What about you, dear? You look like life is treating you very well. I've never seen you with a tan before."

"I've been spending a lot of time outdoors this summer."

"You've never been known to do that voluntarily. Someone must be awfully attractive to pull you away from your books."

"What makes you think it's a someone, auntie?"

"What else would it be?"

Azira tried but couldn't think of an answer to that, so he smiled sheepishly. 

"See. I'm right, aren't I?"

"I guess so."

"Do you want to tell me about this person?"

"I want to, but It might be better if we talked about this after Mom's surgery."

"Azira, didn't you ever wonder why I never visited your family in this house when your father was alive?"

"You didn't? Oh. I guess not. We visited you. What's this got to do with anything?

"Be patient and humor an old woman. Did your dad ever come with you when you and your mom came to visit?"

"No. Come to think of it, he didn't. Why?"

"Your father didn't like me. He thought I was living in sin."

Azira frowned. "But you weren't, were you? Why would he think that? The only person we ever saw you with when we went to your place was, your friend Sally."

"That's right." Martha said gently, "my very good friend Sally. Did you know she passed away when you were in graduate school.?"

The librarian looked at his aunt as if he had never seen her before. His brain scrambled to try to find an alternative explanation for what she seemed to be trying to tell him. "I don't understand," he finally blurted out. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"What do you think I'm saying, Azira?"

"Were you and Sally....I mean...was she...are you...I'm confused."

"I understand. It's not your fault that the adults in your life chose to keep you ignorant. Our silence bought me the privilege of spending time with you and your mother. If you had learned that Sally and I were much more than friends, your father would have forbidden contact. I had no doubt that he would make good that threat."

"So, I'm the only person in the entire family who didn't know you and Sally were lovers?"

"Yes, dear. I'm sorry."

Azira was at a loss for words. His aunt gave him time to process what he had just learned.

Finally, he took a deep breath and looked his aunt in the eye. "You know I'm gay, don't you?" 

"I wasn't one hundred percent certain, but for quite a while I've thought that might be the case."

"I feel so stupid all of a sudden. I'm so sorry about Sally, auntie. You must miss her very much. I wish I could have been there for you. I hope you didn't go through that alone.

"It's okay, sweetie. We had good friends who supported us when we needed it. I was so proud of you for breaking away from that church and finding a new path. You didn't need to worry about my problems too. I know this sounds bad, but when your father died soon after Sally, I was very happy that you would finally be free of his grip on your life."

"Poor Dad. If there is an after life, I don't think even heaven is good enough to make him happy. He'd probably try to micromanage god. Sometimes I can still hear his voice from beyond the grave."

"I hope you are learning to ignore that."

"I'm trying."

"Good. Now will you tell me about that beau of yours?"

Azira huffed. "Beau, Auntie? Really?"

\---------------------

Azira spent most of his morning sitting next to his mother, thinking, while she watched reruns of old TV shows. His aunt had taken the opportunity to get out of the house for a change, even if it was raining. At lunch time, Azira warmed up some vegetable beef soup for his mother's lunch and managed to get her to eat half of it. Later he stood outside the bathroom door waiting for her, hoping he wouldn't be required to go in and help. About two o'clock, her head began to nod. He got a pillow from the bed and helped her stretch out on the couch, covering her with an afghan, and turning the volume down on the television. Before she fell asleep, she patted his hand and said, "You're a good boy, Azira." He kissed her on the forehead and left the room.

After running upstairs to grab a book and his phone, the librarian checked to see if he had any messages. There was one from Anathema. 

"Crowley called me to ask why you are at your mom's. I just said she is going to have surgery. Why didn't You tell him?"

He replied, "I was in crisis mode. Don't worry, I'll sort it out. Also, I owe you an apology. He's Crowley's cousin."

Five minutes later: "You better sort it out. Don't stay gone too long. I'm always right. :P"

There was another message from Crowley. "I missed our walk."

He replied, "Me too. It's raining here."

\-----------

Azira's mother had her surgery Monday morning. It was uneventful. Still, her doctor thought it was best that she not leave the hospital until she could walk around easily without much help. The librarian was very grateful for his aunt's ability to take care of his mother's needs for now, but the two of them had many long discussions about the future and how to handle any medical issues that may arise, including end of life care. Azira made sure to talk to his mother's doctors and get his mother to sign any necessary paperwork while she was still fairly lucid. Thankfully, she had always been very willing to listen to Azira and comply with his requests. In the past his aunt had relied on that, calling him to talk to her sister when she occasionally became unreasonable.

Azira spoke to his aunt about Crowley in glowing terms. She enjoyed hearing about the farm and the good times the two had together. He did not tell her about the recent issue at work or his need to find a new place to live. She had enough to deal with without worrying about him. Tuesday morning, before they went to visit Azira's mother in the hospital, he asked his aunt if she thought he should come out to his mom before he went back home. 

"It's up to you, sweetie. I don't think it's necessary, but if it will make you feel better, I'm sure she won't reject you. I just don't know what kind of crazy thing she might say though. She'll probably forget it before before a weeks out any way."

The librarian knew what his aunt said was true, but for some reason he also knew that he would regret it if he never told his mom how he felt. That afternoon, after his mother had a nap and a light lunch, she seemed in very good spirits. Azira sat next to her bed and held her hand.

"Mom. There's something I need to tell you."

His mother laid her other hand on top of his and turned her blue eyes toward him. "What is it dear?"

"I've been seeing someone. Someone who is very special to me."

"That's lovely, son! Will I get to meet her?"

"They are not a her, mom. They are a him." 

His mother's eyes, so like his own, searched his face with dismay. "Oh, dear." Her face crumpled and she exclaimed with fear, "Azira, you are a man of god! You will lose your job. How will you live?" 

"It's okay, mom. I'm not preaching anymore. I have a good job working as a librarian now."

"Why didn't Martha tell me?"

Azira knew it would be useless to point out that his aunt had tried to tell her, but she hadn't believed it. "Maybe she didn't want to worry you," he said.

"Oh dear," his mother repeated with a sigh. "What will I tell your father?"

Since his father had been dead for three years, Azira was not quite sure how to answer. He just sat quietly watching her face work through a range of emotions. Finally, she set her lips in a firm line and said, "He doesn't have to know. I can come visit you and your friend just like I did with Martha and Sally. It's not like he would ever want to meet the young man any way, is it?"

"No, mom, I guess not," he replied softly, touched that his mother would do that for him, even though there was no need. There was also a sharp, fleeting pang of anger at the knowledge that his mother felt like she had to protect him from his father. It didn't last long, however. When his mother was distracted by the nurse coming in to check her vitals, he made an effort to consciously put away thoughts of his father and to focus on the present. The realization that Crowley and his mother might never actually meet was sobering. Life was moving too fast and he was powerless to make it slow down just for him. 

That evening, when he was back in his room, he sent Crowley a message. "Mom's surgery was a success. Will be home by the end of the week. We need to talk." 

Fifteen minutes later he received a reply. "I'm glad it went went well. Talking will not be a problem. Big talker me. Make sure you get back in one piece. Good night, angel."

"Good night foul fiend."

"?!?!"

"X"

"That's more like it."

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Where's mine?"

"Your what?"

"Never mind."

"X"

"Tease."

"<3"

Azira was not quite sure what "less than three" meant, so he googled it. Love. How was he supposed to take that? Was it a joke, or was he telling Azira he loved him? Either way, the librarian was at a loss for how to respond, so he didn't. If Azira was going to ever declare his love for Crowley, it wouldn't be by text. He had standards. Still, he found it difficult to fall asleep that night. His mind kept thinking of creative ways to tell Crowley he loved him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter should be the last. Thank you, my dear readers, for coming along on this ride with me.
> 
> Edited to fix a name.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Home sweet home.

Settle down, it'll all be clear  
Don't pay no mind to the demons  
They fill you with fear  
The trouble it might drag you down  
If you get lost you can always be found  
Just know you're not alone  
I'm going to make this place your home

"Home" by Philip Phillips

\------------------------------------

Azira ended up staying with his aunt and mom longer than he had expected. He didn't have to be back to work till Monday, so he decided to leave very early Sunday morning. That decision paid off. Traffic was light most of the way and he made excellent time. He experienced a surge of adrenaline when he crossed the county line in the late afternoon. 

Instead of going straight to his apartment, he decided to stop off at Crowley's. By the time he pulled into the farmer's driveway, his chest felt tight and he was lightheaded. The truck was there, so Crowley should have been home, but there was no sign of him yet. Azira sat in his car a few minutes and counted his breaths to get his nerves under control. 

The librarian got out of the car and went to the back door. He knocked but there was no answer. He poked his head inside the kitchen and yelled "hellooo!" Still no answer. The only one to greet him was the cat, who followed him back outside. Azira went to the garden, no Crowley. The farmer was also not with the goats or chickens. He was not working on a tractor either. After looking in and behind most of the outbuildings, Azira began to walk toward the cornfield. That's when he heard music wafting out from among the corn stalks. Crowley must be in the little clearing where they had watched the fireworks, he thought. 

Very carefully and quietly, Azira pushed his way through the corn to get to the small grassy area. He wasn't quite sure why he didn't just call out. Part of him wondered if that was a mistake. The music got louder the closer he got. Finally he stepped out of the corn into the clearing. Crowley was stretched out on on his stomach, on an old tattered quilt, sunbathing. He had on nothing but a pair of very cut off jean shorts. His flip flops and a bottle of tanning lotion lay at one end of the quilt. A t-shirt was thrown over the back of one of the lawn chairs. The farmer's phone was on the seat blaring out something about riding shotgun underneath the hot sun. 

Crowley didn't move. He had on his sunglasses and his head was pillowed on his forearms. Azira silently watched the rhythmic rise and fall of Crowley's brown back and realized he must be asleep. He found himself counting his breaths again to still his furiously beating heart. Aware that he was staring, but reluctant to break the spell, he started to back up to return through the corn and yell for Crowley from the lawn. Then the cat decided to walk up one of the farmers legs and sit down on the small of his back. Before Azira could move, the farmer shook himself to dislodge the cat and turned to sit up. The librarian gasped and put his hand over his mouth. Crowley startled and yelled, "What the fuck!" 

Azira turned and pushed his way hurriedly through the corn. He heard Crowley shout after him, "Wait! Don't go, angel. I'm coming!" The blond kept moving till he got to the picnic table behind the house. He started pacing up and down wringing his hands while he waited for his friend. Crowley emerged from the corn and pulled his t-shirt over his head. He had on his flip flops and his phone was still singing in his back pocket. He pulled it out and turned it off as he sauntered toward Azira. There was a great big grin on his face when reached the blond.

"Thought you could sneak up on me, did ya? Well, it worked. You almost scared the shit out of me." 

Azira let his hands fall to his side. He looked contrite. "Honestly, I didn't mean to. I just.."

"I know, you were stunned speechless by my natural beauty."

That was so close to the truth that the librarian's mouth grimaced and his face flushed a furious red. He looked away.

Crowley laughed out loud. Then he lowered his voice. "It's good to see you, angel."

"It's good to see you too, Crowley." Azira gave him a sideways glance.

"Have you been home yet?"

"No, I wanted to come here first."

"You astonish me! Someone might almost think you had feelings for me."

"Don't be ridiculous, Crowley."

Crowley visibly tensed up at that, his face settled into a neutral expression. "Right. So, why are you here then?"

"I didn't mean...oh, damn! Can't we just have a normal conversation?"

The farmer stilled. He took off his sunglasses and looked at his friend. Azira squared his shoulders and lifted his head to look Crowley in the eye. It was as though he had shed his nervousness and had clothed himself with determination. The sun hanging over the cornfield shone on the librarian, who reflected the glow. Crowley's shoulders relaxed. "Sorry, 'Zira. Truth is, you surprised me. And, well, I wasn't exactly dressed for company, was I?"

Azira realized with amusement, that Crowley had actually been uncomfortable at being caught in a vulnerable position. His aggressive flirting was just a cover up. Suddenly the librarian felt in full control of the situation. "You surprised me too. Thankfully, you're not Too repulsive, " he said with a straight face.

Crowley smiled and moved forward slowly into Azira's personal space, watching his eyes carefully. The librarian did not flinch. When they were toe to toe, Crowley laid his hands on Azira's soft waist just above his hip bones. "Welcome home," He said softly.

"It's good to be home," was the reply.

Crowley leaned in, placed a gentle kiss on the librarian's lips, pulled back, and said, "Okay?"

"More than okay."

The farmer's arms continued their journey around the librarian's waist and pulled him forward . The other man's arms came up to Crowley's shoulders and his hands locked behind the farmer's neck. He tugged until farmer's forehead came down to meet his own. "There's something I need to tell you."

"Are you sure it can't wait? I'd really much rather you kiss me again."

"I swear, Crowley, my life was a lot simpler before I met you." 

"What did I do now?" 

"Nothing, except be your self."

"And that's bad?"

"No, it just complicates things."

Azira gave Crowley what he wanted, because he couldn't help it. Their lips met again. The embrace tightened and thier bodies came together with delicious pressure. Each could feel the beating of the other's heart. Azira felt a rush of intense pleasure and suddenly it became difficult for to him to breath. He found himself wondering if that was what it was like to drown. Suddenly, he pushed on Crowley's chest and took a gasp of air. 

"What's the matter?"

"Um. I need to stop. It's too much." 

"Okay. I get it. I'm going too fast again."

"No! No. I just need to get my thoughts under control."

"Why?" 

"I don't want to make it harder on both of us if I have to stay here for a while."

"Is there something I should know, angel?"

"That's what I've been trying to tell you!"

Crowley stepped back and took Azira's hands in his own. "All right. I'm all ears."

"Well, you remember when Mr. Helldane showed up at the apartment?"

"Yeah."

"I got an eviction notice a few days later."

"You what!"

"Don't get mad at me, Crowley. I thought I could handle everything on my own. I had a month. But now, with mom and everything, all I have is two weeks. I tried looking for a cheap rental before left but I didn't have any luck."

Crowley gave a deep sigh. "I'm not mad, angel. What do you want to do now.?"

"Well I thought you could help me find a place since you know so many more people than I do."

"I already know a place."

"Oh! Really? Where?"

"Here." 

"I appreciate the offer of your guest room, Crowley, but we both know I'll still have to find my own place eventually any way."

"Why?"

"What do you mean why? I'm not going to be your permanent house guest. There are words for guests who move in and never leave, and they aren't very nice."

"What if you weren't a guest?"

Azira's eyes widened. He looked for signs that Crowley was teasing him and couldn't find any.

"Are you suggesting what I infer you are implying?"

"Yes?"

Azira was torn. This was like a dream come true, but he needed more than a tentative offer of a place to live for a while. "I can't deny it's very tempting, but I don't know....What would people say?"

It finally occurred to Crowley that maybe Azira didn't actually fully comprehend what he was offering. He lifted one of the blond's hands to his mouth and lightly brushed the knuckles with his lips. "Would it help you make up your mind if I told you I love you?"

Azira gasped,"You what?...You do?"

"Would I lie to you?" Crowley smiled and Azira's heart turned into a puddle of goo. His knees grew weak.

" I need to sit down." Keeping a tight hold on Crowley's hand, he backed up and sat down at the picnic table. The farmer sat beside him, as close as he could get. 

"Azira, I want you to come live here as my partner. I want you to make this place your home. If you think you could put up with me." 

"Are you sure? You're not just saying that because you feel sorry for me?"

"Angel, I've never been so sure of anything in my life." Then, because he couldn't help teasing his angel, "Of course, if you don't feel the same way I do, we wouldn't have to share a room..."

"Share a...oh." The librarian's face pinked prettily and he ducked his head into Crowley's chest. "When can I move in?" 

The farmer chuckled, wrapped his arms around Azira, and planted a kiss in the blond curls. "You could stay the night, if you want. We can go get your books tomorrow." 

They sat quietly for few moments letting everything sink in. "Crowley?" Azira questioned.

""Yes?" 

"Do you have any Noxema?"

"What in the world do you want Noxema for?"

"Sunburn."

"Are you planning on getting a sunburn?"

"Not planning, but just in case."

"No, I don't have Have Noxema. Aloe works on sunburns. I've got some of that. What is this all about any way?"

"Have you ever heard of Spencer's Mountain?"

"No. Where is it?"

"I don't remember, but that's not important. It's also the name of a book I read when I was thirteen." 

"There is Noxema in the book? That's weird."

"Yes. Well, there was this boy in the book who got caught by one of his siblings while he was putting Noxema on his backside because he had a sunburn.

"Angel. This is getting even weirder. What are you trying to say?"

Azira lifted his head. He looked from Crowley to the cornfield and back again. "He got the sunburn because he was out in a field with a girl." 

"Buck naked?...ohhh!"

The librarian stood up and held out his hand to pull Crowley off the bench. They started walking toward the corn stalks. When they reached the border of the field, Azira held Crowley's gaze with a look that was full of pent up desire finally expressing itself. "This is your last chance to change your mind and send me away, " he said with emotion.

"Good god, angel, I'd have to be an idiot to do that. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me." He leaned over and kissed Azira softly, where his shoulder joined his neck. 

"I love you too, Crowley. More than I can say."

"That's good to know." Another kiss was pressed into Azira's temple. "I just have one question."

"What's that?"

"If you get a sunburn, can I put the aloe on your ass?" With that Crowley cackled and dodged out of the way of the indignant librarian, ducking into the corn stalks. "Come and get me," he yelled.

Azira followed more slowly, making his way to the love he knew would be waiting for him, his heart's desire, and his home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone who left kudos and all the lovely comments. You made this work worthwhile. 
> 
> Aziraphale and Crowley are the perfect vehicle for love stories of all kinds. There is something truly magical and inspirational about their relationship. I am proud to have contributed a small part to the fandom. It has been therapeutic in a way, enabling me to get some of my own experiences and thoughts down in writing. 
> 
> To the world.


End file.
